


When it’s Ajar

by neverbirds



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Horror, M/M, Magic, Monster of the Week, Slow Build, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverbirds/pseuds/neverbirds
Summary: “How long have you been dreaming about it?"“The first one was in Uganda,” says Kevin. “Then pretty much since we got back to America.”“Dreams always mean something,” says Connor.“I know,” says Kevin. “You told me that before.”Or; when is a door not a door?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is, by far, the most ambitious thing I have ever done. It's experimental, in a genre I've never written, and twice as long than anything I've ever written before. So, basically, I'm super nervous about posting this. 
> 
> Fill disclaimer, this fic is ridiculous. It's almost like a crack fic that takes itself way (wayyy) too seriously. I just love adventure fic, and monster of the week fic, and all that fun stuff & decided it was finally time I tried my hand at it, too. And I ended up with - this?
> 
> Thanks to everybody who has encouraged me so far, it really does mean the world. This has been a bit of a slog to get through and I'm only halfway done so far! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it :) prepare yourselves - we're in for the long haul...

When Kevin is back in America, he starts dreaming again. Well, it starts a week before they leave Uganda, but it’s all downhill from there.

He dreams about a door. It is not unlike any other door; it’s wooden, with a white frame. There are no walls on either side, but Kevin can’t get around it. He already knows, has always known, that the only way forward is through the door. The only unusual thing about it is that it has no handle. He pushes against it, but no such luck. He can’t figure it out, no matter how hard he tries. He never was very good at puzzles - he doesn’t have the patience for them. It frustrates him in a way that’s all too familiar. He traces where the door meets the frame with his fingers, but it’s sealed tight. He wants to know what’s on the other side of the door more than he’s ever wanted anything before. He paws at it, frantically, before he uses his whole weight to throw his shoulder at it and -  
  
He wakes up. It wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, but the details aren’t fading away like a dream does. When he closes his eyes, the door is there again.  
  
It bothers him all day. Usually he doesn’t remember his dreams. He doesn’t mention it to anyone, though, but they all seem to explain away the dark circles under his eyes with excuses of a Hell dream. Kevin doesn’t correct them, even though he hates their pity. He’s so irritable about it that he snaps at both Arnold and Connor, and it takes Nabulungi hitting him round the back of the head before he breaks out of his slump. He doesn’t apologise, though. He’s not great at admitting his faults.  
  
He bathes late that night, when he’s aching and exhausted from the day’s work and avoiding the hurt look on Connor’s face. He’s thinking about walls that aren’t walls when he finds a large, purple bruise blooming on his shoulder.

***

Kevin goes back to America. They all do, in the end. He practically has to drag Arnold away, but he wrestles him on the plane and does his seatbelt for him. He holds Arnold’s hand the whole way home, even though Arnold has the stickiest hands of anyone Kevin has ever met.  
  
He’s so busy with Arnold that he forgets to say goodbye to some of the others. There are family members to greet; there are sisters and girlfriends eagerly waiting on the other side of the departure gate. There’s nobody waiting for Kevin. He’s not surprised, but he is disappointed. He orders a taxi to take him and Arnold back to Arnold’s parents house, where he’s made plans to crash for a little while, until he gets a job. He makes sure Arnold has his suitcase and his head screwed on right. Then he turns to Elder McKinley, to say - something, _anything_ but goodbye, but he’s nowhere to be found.  
  
Well. That answers a question that Kevin has been too afraid to ask.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do with himself, back in America. He peaked in Uganda; there, he had friends and a purpose and a life and a Connor to be confused about. Now he only has Arnold, he’s unemployed, and Connor won’t return his calls.  
  
He gets a temporary job in an office. It’s incredibly dull, but so was Church on a Sunday, so. He finds it hard to get work, because he doesn’t have a degree and he doesn’t exactly have work experience and it’s not like he can use the mission president for a reference or anything. He’s miserable, and often tired. He tries to pinpoint the moment it all went wrong, but at the end of the day, he wouldn’t change a second of it. If Uganda is the only good thing he does with his life, it was worth it. He made other people’s lives better, and that means something, even if Kevin can’t do the same thing for himself.  
  
He was good at it, is the thing. Kevin only really likes to do things he’s good at, and in America, he’s a good-for-nothing loser. He knows a lot about Ugandan reform, but nobody in America needs an insecticide-soaked malaria net. Nobody is dying from dysentery. It’s so boring, and safe, and unfulfilling. There’s nobody who wouldn’t do anything but laugh if they showed them the Book of Arnold. He tries to join a non-for-profit, but he can’t be available enough outside of work. He considers volunteering overseas, but they want huge sums of money that he could never afford. He settles for helping at a homeless shelter every Saturday. It’s not enough, but it helps. It’s a nice distraction. It makes him feel halfway good about himself again.  
  
Sometimes the other Elders will call, or text, or e-mail or whatever, and Kevin gets a little thrill every time. He often got the impression that they were mostly putting up with him, but they’re reaching out when they don’t have to and that feels nice. Connor doesn’t, though. Connor has disappeared off the face of the Earth and he only hears bits and pieces of what he’s up to that let him know he’s even still alive; he met Thomas for coffee, he got cast in some am dram thing over Christmas, et cetera. It makes Kevin feel a little better, knowing that Connor is living and breathing and has a life, that he wasn’t just some figment of his imagination that only existed in Uganda.  
  
That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. Kevin doesn’t take too kindly to not being liked, never mind not being liked by the person who he was absolutely hopeless for to the point where said person wants literally nothing to do with him anymore. It’s dented his pride, and if Kevin Price doesn’t have his pride what else does he have? Not a lot; he’s mostly bored and riddled with anxiety. There’s not a lot else going on. He goes to work, he comes home, he hangs out with Arnold and then he goes to sleep and dreams about the door.

***

This time he’s got his ear pressed up to it, and he can hear faint noises on the other side. Just murmurs, vibrations on his skin, but there’s definitely something there. He’s heard it before - he’s not sure how many times - and at this point he’s only managed to figure out that there are two voices, talking to each other.  
  
He still knows that there is only one way out, and that is through the door. Come to think of it, he’s never tried any other way. He has to go forward. He has to get the door open, otherwise he’s trapped here in the nothingness, with only the door for company.  
  
He wakes up in a cold sweat, and fumbles in the dark to turn the lamp on. He breathes heavily, feels the walls behind him, and tries to swallow the fear back down his throat. He throws his clothes on and leaves his apartment, slamming the door behind him. It makes him feel a little better.  
  
It’s easier, in the open air, to think about what the dream might mean. Dreams always mean something, Connor told him, once. It’s winter, a novelty which is not yet lost on Kevin. He can’t figure out what the dream might mean, because they’re usually about change, or letting go, or being unhappy with something in your life. Kevin has too many of those to count. He can’t pull out one, single strand of dissatisfaction when his life is this unfulfilling.  
  
He needs to snap himself out of it. It’s getting ridiculous. Sometimes he thinks maybe he wants to feel like this, gloomy and morose because he feels sorry for himself and it’s easier to let yourself be miserable than it is to pull yourself out of a slump. He vows to spend the day with Arnold tomorrow, who always cheers him up, who never fails to be the one person Kevin can rely on, no matter how much of a dick he’s being or how despondent he is. Whatever he did to deserve Arnold Cunningham in his life, he will never understand. But he can’t even tell Arnold about the dreams. Sometimes Arnold is a little too optimistic; not letting Kevin be depressed when he needs to be, always trying to see a bright side of things when Kevin just wants to be left in the dark. He’ll probably tell Kevin that he needs to go to a doctor, or something. Not that he could afford it anyway. He’s sure the dreams will go away eventually. Everything is temporary. Nothing lasts. Kevin learned that the hard way.

***

Arnold gets a cat, and calls it Naba, and Kevin loves it more than he’s loved anything in a long time. She’s as big as a small dog and ginger and purrs loud enough that it blocks out some of Kevin’s thoughts.  
  
Naba the cat curls up on the end of his bed, warming his feet. He takes about twelve pictures and sends them to everyone, even Connor. He scratches her behind the ears and thinks about Nabulungi, and wonders what she’s doing right now. Is she with Mafala, or has she gone to Kimbay’s for the night? Is she still practicing the Church of Arnold? Is she happy? Is she okay? Sometimes he thinks it’s her voice he can hear through the door, and the other voice is Arnold. Sometimes it sounds a lot like -

  
He can’t help it. He tries calling Connor again. He knows it’s pathetic, and he’s one step away from downright stalking him, but if he doesn’t think about Connor, he’ll think about the door. He’s always had a one-track mind. He doesn’t really have a lot else to occupy his brain. So he fantasises, instead, of laying on the grass in Uganda, the lazy sun warming them, of hands and arms and he imagines what would have happened, where they would be now, if he’d just done what he was supposed to do right then. Or the ten other times he should have. He should’ve done a lot of things, but he didn’t, and now he’s here, lonely and bored and with an ache in his chest that’s shaped a lot like Elder McKinley. He’s such a fucking idiot. He was stupid in Uganda, and now he’s stupid here, too. He calls Connor around once every week. He sends texts, sometimes. He never gets a reply. He doesn’t know what he did to make Connor disappear without a goodbye, and at this point he’s not sure he wants to know. His brain would rather get over it, but Kevin’s heart just won’t stop picking up the phone.  
  
It’s not like Kevin has much to lose, anyway. He dials the number, and listens to it ring all the way to the end, counting to thirteen, like he always does. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing it. He doesn’t even know what he would say if Connor picks up. If anything, Kevin thinks he might keep calling because it’s good to remind himself that there’s nothing there.  
  
He goes to sleep and dreams of the door again. He always dreams of the door, now. It used to be every so often, but now it permeates his dreams and bleeds into his real life and he’s starting to lose sight of where the lines between dreaming and waking blur.  
  
Kevin, like he does every week day, gets out of bed goes to work. He feels like he hasn’t slept at all. Maybe he hasn’t. It’s hard to tell. He sits at his computer, he does what he’s supposed to do, he goes home.  
  
It’s not like he’s miserable all of the time. He forgets, sometimes, that he was ever in Uganda - sometimes he even forgets he was a Mormon - and sometimes he goes out and gets drunk with new friends, and sometimes he and Arnold stay in their pyjamas all day on Sundays playing Mario Kart and eating Cheetos. It’s not all bad. Kevin’s life certainly has its moments.  
  
He tries to date, but that ends up being a waste of time. They aren’t Connor, and it’s as simple as that. Oh, he sort of half-loses his virginity and then discovers the joys of anonymous, shameful sex, but it’s not like it goes anywhere. He’s wound up and it’s a release and if he picks a redhead and squints hard enough he can kind of enjoy it. He knows he’s pathetic, and more than a little creepy. He’s not that much of an idiot.  
  
He passes a woman he rejected in the hallway on the way out of work and feels awkwardness crawling under his skin. He puts his head down and tries to leave as fast as possible, suddenly feeling a little panicked and desperate to leave his eight hours of miserable data entry behind him for the day.  
The only thing is, Kevin can’t get the door open. There’s a problem with his key card.  
  
He freezes, his chest tightening quickly and painfully, his hand paralysed. He’s stuck. He can’t get out. It’s not the door; this door is mostly glass, and slides open. But it doesn’t have a handle, either, but that doesn’t stop Kevin fumbling for one, like he does in the dream. He knows he’s dreaming. If he imagines it hard enough, well enough, gets enough control over it, he can make a handle appear on the door. He closes his eyes and imagines a metal handle on the left side of the glass, and hinges on the corners. It doesn’t work. He bangs his fists on the glass in frustration.  
  
A hand touches his shoulder, and he jumps away, cracking his keycard in his hand. His boss looks pitying and alarmed, and Kevin feels pathetic and tired and embarrassed. This isn’t the dream. This is work, this is real, this is normal life. There are other people here, and walls, and other exits.  
  
His boss tells him to take the next day off work, and come back in on Monday. Kevin hasn’t been this grateful to anyone in a long time. Maybe he can finally get some sleep.

 

***

Kevin is sat cross-legged on the floor. He’s been having a staring contest with the door, and the door has been winning. The door always wins.  
  
A figure appears next to him, and Kevin feels as if he’s always been there, can remember a shadow next to him earlier but can’t remember it at all, all at once.  
  
“Hello,” says Connor.  
  
“Hi,” says Kevin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Connor sits down next to him.

“It’s been a while,” says Connor.

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Fair point,” says Connor, and knocks his shoulder with his own. “What are we doing here?”

“There’s a door,” says Kevin. He can’t take his eyes off it.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Shut up,” says Kevin. “I can’t open it.”

“That’s because there’s no handle,” says Connor. Kevin rolls his eyes. Captain Obvious indeed.

“There’s someone on the other side, but they can’t hear me,” Kevin tells him. Maybe Connor can help him figure it out. Connor is much more logical and practical than Kevin is. He rarely lets his emotions get the better of him. It’s a skill which Kevin has found himself enviable of more than once.

“Weird,” says Connor. He stands up and presses his ear up to the door. “I don’t hear anything.”

“They’re not there now,” says Kevin. “I spend a lot of time here. They’re only there sometimes.”

Connor traces the door with his fingers, and Kevin looks away so he doesn’t get weird and stare at Connor’s hands. It takes him a minute to remember he’s in a dream, it doesn’t matter at all, but he still feels a little creepy staring at him. He looks exactly like Kevin remembers him; a solid, comforting presence, and he feels so _real_ that Kevin can’t help but wonder -

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” says Connor, frowning. “I’m just here.”  
  
“Me too,” says Kevin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m not,” says Connor. “This is really weird.”

“I know,” says Kevin. “You get used to it.”

Connor sits back down next to Kevin, drawing his knees up to his chest. He watches the door, too, but it remains there unchanging, just a normal, regular door. It could be any door. There’s nothing distinctive about it.

“Maybe I’m like a vampire. I have to be invited in.”

“That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said,” says Connor. “But you do suck the life out of everything.”

“Not the time,” says Kevin. Even in his dreams Connor is bitchy and a little cruel.

“It’s never the right time for you,” Connor says, and Kevin thinks: _that’s fair_. He probably deserved that one.  
  
Kevin doesn’t understand why Connor is there, but is grateful that he is. He was getting so lonely, just him and the door. And the door isn’t a great conversationalist, that’s for sure. Even if Connor isn’t great company, he’s at least somebody. Anybody will do. But if Kevin gets to fill some of the aching hole inside of him that opened up when Connor left him with a dream, it won’t be the first time his subconscious has fantasised a version of him to compensate for Kevin’s loneliness.

“What do you think is on the other side?”

“I don’t know,” says Kevin. “But I want to find out. I’m going to find out.”

“You don’t have a great track record of getting what you want.”

Kevin looks at him, really looks at him, and feels the crushing disappointment he felt the first time Connor didn’t answer the phone. The same way he felt when he turned around at the airport and found him gone without a word.

“No,” says Kevin. “I don’t.”

He still feels the same familiar determination, though. Get knocked down, get back up again. That’s the way he has and always will be. He’s determined to be determined. And he will get the door open. He just will. He knows it like he once knew God was real, like he knew that he was supposed to save the kids in Uganda, the same way he knows that he fucked up with Connor irreparably.

He hears Arnold’s voice in his head: you’re Elder Price, and you can do anything. And who is Kevin to contradict that?

***

There’s a reunion coming up. Neeley is getting married, and they’re all going to be there. And Kevin means everyone - he called up and checked. This means he has to see Connor again, in the real world this time, and Kevin absolutely does not want to have to deal with that. He doesn’t exactly handle rejection too well.

He always accidentally makes a scene out of everything, and he doesn’t want to do that at Elder Neeley’s wedding. Not everything is about Kevin. He learned that the hard way. But he already knows he probably will; Connor is a drama queen, and Kevin can’t ever let anything go. No wonder they didn’t work out. Maybe it was for the best, after all.  
So Kevin obsesses over it. He wonders if Connor’s hair is longer or shorter, if he has less freckles now he’s out of the sun. He doesn’t even know where he lives. If he did, he probably would have gone to his house and banged on the door until Connor opened up. Kevin is getting used to doors that won’t open for him.

He sits on the couch with Arnold and rests his head on his shoulder. Arnold pats his head, absently, chewing on a pen. He has ink all over his face but Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Buddy,” says Arnold. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” says Kevin. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Worried about seeing Connor?”

Kevin huffs out a laugh.

“I guess you could say that,” says Kevin.

“It’ll be fine,” says Arnold. “Just ignore him.”

“That’s much easier said than done.”

“I know,” says Arnold. “But some things are best left in Uganda, you know?”

Kevin feels awful when Arnold says it, thinking about Nabulungi and how unfair the world is. He misses her. He doesn’t even want to know how Arnold feels, although he has a pretty good idea that it involves a weary, aching heart and an open wound that doesn’t seem to be healing. But in true best friend style, he’s got one to match. Not that he’s going to talk about it with Arnold, or anyone, really. He’s been doing a lot of not talking about it recently. It’s not lying; it’s just an omission of the truth. Arnold doesn’t talk about Nabulungi, either. But Arnold’s always been a talented liar, so he hides his heartbreak pretty well.

Arnold is semi-successful, writing a book and working towards teaching elementary school, while Kevin’s flounders around trying to find his feet. Arnold pays the lion’s share of the rent, because he has parents to help him out through college (which Kevin will never, ever be able to afford), and Kevin repays him by keeping the apartment tidy and cooking for Arnold so he doesn’t live entirely off snacks. Kevin spends most of his time with him, partly because they don’t have anybody else but mostly because Arnold is the only good thing to happen to him and he never wants to let him go. He lost so many friends when they moved, that he refuses to lose Arnold too.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it,” says Kevin.

“You will,” says Arnold. “Life is like, a really longtime, you know? You’re not going to be stuck on some guy you knew when you were nineteen forever.”  
“Feels like it,” says Kevin. He sighs and pulls away from Arnold, curling up on the other end of the couch.

“One day you’ll barely even remember him,” says Arnold, and Kevin wants to argue but he doesn’t, because he realises that Arnold isn’t talking about Kevin and Connor at all. “We’ll be okay.”

Kevin gives him a quick grin and pats his leg. He’s done with this conversation, and he’s assuming Arnold is, too. They’re both hopeless, pining for people they can never have. At least they have each other. They’ll always have each other.

“Mario Party?”

“You know it,” says Arnold. “Go set it up, I’m too lazy.”  
  
“I did it last time!”

“You’re the one who suggested it,” says Arnold, yawning obnoxiously. Kevin gets up, grumbling, but he doesn’t mind really. He and Arnold have been enjoying electricity far too much since they got back. Their bill is through the roof, but it’s hard to care when you have actual working lights and air conditioning and TV. There are some things about Uganda that he definitely doesn’t miss.  
  
They play video games until it’s way past their bedtime (remember when they had an actual, honest to God bedtime at nineteen years old?) and Kevin forgets all about Connor and the door because Naba the cat is half-sitting on both of their laps and Kevin is losing almost every game and Arnold won’t stop laughing at him. He forgets about his misery, for a little while, and Kevin is so unbelievably grateful of Arnold that he kisses him on the cheek and pushes his head with affection. Arnold thinks nothing of it, because Arnold is Arnold and Kevin can be as tactile as he wants with him and he’d barely even blink.  
  
He falls asleep on the sofa, the cat stretched halfway up his chest, and dreams.

***

Connor is surprisingly calm, watching Kevin bang on the door.

“What do you want from me?” he asks the door. The door doesn’t reply.

“It can’t hear you,” says Connor. “It doesn’t have ears.”

“Very funny,” says Kevin. “You should be a comedian.”

He bangs on the door again, and then again. He’s going to wake up with bruises on his hands again, but that doesn’t stop him from banging one more time.  
  
Then, the door bangs back.  
  
Kevin jumps away from the door like he’s been burned. That’s new, for sure. Is the door talking to him? Is there somebody, trapped, on the other side too? Is that the voices he hears? Connor puts his hand on Kevin’s shoulder and the sensation burns his skin through his shirt.

“It hurts in real life, you know. Look.”

Kevin shows Connor the mottled bruises on the sides of his fist. Connor reaches out and touches his hand, uncurling them for him to inspect properly, and his face flashes with something that Kevin doesn’t understand.

“That’s not good,” he says. “That’s not good at all.”

“It hurts,” says Kevin, pathetically. He hasn’t been able to explain away the bruises to Arnold, because _I hurt myself in my dreams_ is possibly the weirdest thing he’ll have ever said to anybody, but luckily he never asks. He’s got his own stuff going on.

“You need to wake up,” says Connor.

“That’s easy for you to say,” says Kevin. “You’re not real.”

“Neither are you,” says Connor. It makes Kevin stop looking at the door, staring at Connor instead.

“The door won’t open,” he says, stupidly.  
  
“I know,” says Connor, clutching his wrist. He draws Kevin closer to him, away from the door. He doesn’t say anything else. Kevin sits out the rest of the dream in silence with Connor, thinking about how his hand on Kevin’s arm feels more real than the real world does.

When he wakes up, Kevin sends a text.

_Do you dream about it too?_

He doesn’t get a reply.

***

It’s the day of the wedding.  
  
Kevin makes sure he looks especially good. He gets Arnold to judge three different outfits, maneuvering around the cat who has decided that all of Kevin’s shirts are her new favourite place to sit, and he gives Kevin a knowing look but blessedly doesn’t say anything. There’s no point airing Kevin’s dirty laundry, at this point. He’s too far gone to be pulled back to the world of the reasonable.  
  
“My hair,” Kevin laments.

“Is as beautiful and shiny as ever,” says Arnold enthusiastically. “All the boys will be falling over you, honestly.”

“One boy won’t be,” Kevin mutters. Kevin can see Arnold roll his eyes in the mirror.

“Stop it,” says Arnold. “Don’t make a big thing out of it and you’ll be fine.”

“I never make a big thing out of anything,” says Kevin, but he quirks a smile at Arnold so he knows that he’s joking. It makes Arnold smile back, and he’s such a sweet, wholesome person that his wide smile makes Kevin feel a little better about the world.

“At least be civil,” says Arnold.

“I will if he is,” says Kevin. “Anyway, come on pal. I’m the one who’s been wronged here.”

“No offence buddy, I love you to death, but you do have a tendency to royally fuck things up and then not know what the problem is.”

He has a point.  
  
“Shut up,” says Kevin. “And help me pick a tie.”

The wedding is lovely, of course it is, and Kevin meets about fifty people and is greeted with ‘you’re Kevin _Price_?’ more times than he can count. He doesn’t see Connor for a while, but when he does Connor is watching him with a dark expression that makes Kevin falter. They have a brief moment of incredibly uncomfortable eye contact before Connor is lost in the crowd again.

 _Jerk_ , he thinks. _Stupid, inconsiderate, abandoning jerk._

It's nice to see everyone again - Davis even gave Kevin a hug, which was lovely but somewhat alarming - and Kevin is glad he came, but he can’t stop his eyes following Connor around the room when he gets glimpses of him.

“Elder Price,” says Church, beaming at him, his arm companionably around Thomas. He got drunk with them enough times to know when they’re more than a little tipsy.  
  
“Hello,” says Kevin, giving a trademark awkward wave.

“Have you been?”

“Okay,” says Kevin. “I miss you guys, but. Okay.”

“We missed you too,” says Thomas, with glassy eyes. Kevin grins at him. “I have been suffering a distinct lack of your ego in my life.”

Elder Church notices Kevin’s eyes glance over his shoulder and gives him a look that Kevin knows all too well by now.

“He’s been a mess, you know.”

Kevin knows they’re talking about Connor. He doesn’t want to talk about Connor. He wants to sulk in the corner and watch Connor and pick out all of his flaws and remind himself over and over again that he’s not missing much.

“So have I,” says Kevin.

Everyone seems well enough, and Neeley looks great in a tuxedo, and they’re all so happy for each other that Kevin feels a stab of hatred in his stomach. Stupid Elders and their stupid supportive families and stupid Connor who still talks to them, still hangs out with them. It’s not fair that they get to effortlessly keep Connor in their lives when Kevin worked so hard to get his attention in the first place.

He watches Connor watch him at the buffet table and he can’t take it anymore, he’s a little tipsy and very emotional so he strides over to Connor with a confidence he does not feel.  
  
“Elder McKinley,” Kevin says. It’s weird, because this is the first time he’s seen Connor in over six months but it isn’t at all; he’s spent hours and hours with him most nights.  
  
“Elder Price,” says Connor, and he’s got such a calm, collected expression on his face that Kevin feels even more emotional to compensate. That’s usually how it goes, with them. Kevin crowds Connor against the wall, shielding prying eyes with his back.

“You left me,” says Kevin. He doesn’t really know what else to say, because he has months and months of pent up anger and hurt and embarrassment that he doesn’t want to talk about, not here, not at Elder Neeley’s wedding. He wants to yell them at Connor, he wants to physically push Connor flat against the wall and kiss him, bite his lips in a resounding message of _fuck you_ and _I hate you for leaving me alone_.

“Go away, Kevin,” says Connor. “I almost didn’t come because of this. I knew you’d cause a scene.”

“Don’t make this my fault,” says Kevin. “I don’t remember being the one ignoring _you_ for six months.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” says Connor. “I didn’t talk to Elder Davis in that time, either. But you don’t see him yelling at me in a room of people.”

“It’s different,” says Kevin. “And you know it.”

“Is it?” says Connor.

“Screw you,” says Kevin. He pushes himself off the wall. “Have a nice life, Elder McKinley.”  
  
He turns, and starts moving as far away as possible.  
  
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” says Connor. “Kevin.”  
  
Kevin moves through the crowd of people, weaving, trying to lose Connor’s trail. Fuck Connor. If he’s going to pretend like nothing happened, that there wasn’t something going on between them, that they weren’t _different_ , like they weren’t connected in some way that Kevin doesn’t understand is more than a little afraid of -

  
He even dreams about him. He’s so screwed in the head, and the one thing that stops Kevin from yelling, banging on the door, begging to be let out, is only a fictional version of somebody he used to be halfway in love with. The real version wants nothing to do with him, and so. Kevin will get over it. He always gets over it, eventually.

  
“Leave me alone,” Kevin says, when he reaches the other side of the room. He’s aware of people looking at them, and doesn’t want to ruin a perfectly good wedding reception because he thought he was sort-of-dating somebody who didn’t even like him.

“You don’t get to pick and choose when you want me.”  
  
“You’re an arrogant dick,” says Connor. “Will you please listen to me when I talk to you?”  
  
“No,” says Kevin, moving towards the exit so they can take this outside. He loosens his tie as he walks, the fabric feeling too tight on his neck, choking him and the words in his throat. “You had your chance to talk to me.”  
  
“You aren’t exactly an angel, you know,” says Connor. “Do you even understand the concept of personal space?”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“You know, maybe if you’d asked how I was, or, or, just let me breathe for a minute, but you just - _Kevin_ , listen to me.”  
  
“We’re going outside,” says Kevin, and grabs him by the neck of his shirt. He yanks the door open and shoves Connor through it, following shortly after. The door closes behind them.  
  
“What,” says Connor. Kevin looks around. They aren’t in the parking lot. They aren’t even outside the reception anymore. There are no buildings, no cars, no people; there are only leaves, and hedges, and flowers and a long, long road ahead of them. It’s a dirt path, like a woodland footpath, and a sign only pointing forward.  
He turns around, and looks at the door.  
  
“Oh my God,” says Kevin. It’s the door. The door! And he went through it, and it was so easy, he didn’t even realise - he didn’t recognise it, but now. He’s on the other side. He starts laughing. He can’t help it, the huge feeling that bubbles through his stomach into his chest and out of his mouth. He laughs and laughs, falls to his knees, and touches the door. It feels as real as it does in the dream.  
  
“I’ve gone mad,” says Connor, behind him. “This is a dream, right?”  
  
“I don’t know what that means anymore,” says Kevin. He grabs Connor’s wrist. “It’s the door.”  
  
“Yes, I figured that we’d gone through some magical time portal, thank you very much, but this is _insane_ -  
  
“Every night,” says Kevin, touching the white frame reverently. “I dreamed every night. The door. This door. It’s real.”  
  
“This doesn’t seem very real to me,” says Connor. He walks over to a hedge and pulls out a flower, with yellow and white petals and purple stalks. “Lantanas. You don’t get these in America.”  
  
“Are we in Uganda?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” says Connor. “It doesn’t - it doesn’t feel like Uganda. Does it?”  
  
“No,” says Kevin. “No, it doesn’t.”  
  
He touches the leaves, and they feel real. He picks out a daisy and holds it out for Connor to see.  
“This is so fucking weird.”  
  
“You’re telling me,” says Kevin, staring at everything around him. He’s been stuck behind the door for so long, he’s been trapped with nothing, and now there’s - everything. There’s everything. He can hear birds, and feel the sun warming his face, interspersed through the thinning leaves above them in the sky, and there’s an overwhelming smell of flowers. He grabs Connor and throws his arms around him. “You have no idea how this feels.”  
  
“Get off me,” says Connor, wrestling out of his grip. “Weren’t we in the middle of an argument?”  
  
“Yes, because that’s all we do, but then a magical portal happened. Remember?”  
  
“How could I forget,” says Connor, deadpan. “We’re leaving.”  
  
He stomps back to the door, coming to an abrupt halt.  
  
“We can’t,” says Kevin. “There’s no handle.”  
  
“Oh my God,” says Connor. “We’re trapped.”  
  
“We aren’t trapped,” says Kevin, happily. “We aren’t trapped. We can go forward. We have to just keep going forward.”  
  
“Further _away_ from freaky magic portal? No thank you,” he says, and tries to force the door open. He bangs on it with the palms of his hands.  
  
“Connor, don’t do that, there’s no point.”  
  
“Of course there’s a point,” he says, hysterically. His eyes are big and wide and full of panicked energy. “We have to get out of here.”  
  
“We can,” says Kevin. “But not that way.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” says Connor. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”  
  
“You do,” says Kevin. “You dreamed about it.”  
  
Connor looks at him, then, _really_ looks at him.  
  
“How did you know that? When you text me?”  
  
“Because you were there too,” says Kevin, simply.  
  
Connor hums at him, cocks his head, and then starts banging on the door. Kevin tries to stop him, tells him to just _wait a second_ , but Connor’s already thrown himself against the door and there’s a horrible cracking sound. The door remains undented.  
  
“Connor, you’ll get hurt -”  
  
“This is a dream, though, right? If you get hurt in a dream, you don’t get hurt in real life.”  
  
He throws himself at the door again. Nothing happens, of course. He lays down on the floor, panting, holding his upper arm with his spare hand. Kevin walks over to him and bends down on his haunches.  
  
“You do in this dream,” says Kevin. “Trust me.”  
  
“Kevin,” says Connor, breathing heavily and looking up into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were getting Freddie Kreugered?”  
  
“Because I’m crazy,” says Kevin. “Everyone would say I was crazy.”  
  
“You are crazy,” says Connor. “But so am I, clearly.”  
  
Kevin resists the urge to push away the hair that’s fallen into Connor’s eyes. Kevin’s overwhelming inability to let things go is going to get him into trouble, one day.  
“What do you think they’ll do when they realise we’re missing?”  
  
“Oh, God,” says Connor, running his hand down his face. “They’re going to call my mother.”  
  
“They’re going to call _my_ mother,” says Kevin. “Are you okay?”  
  
“That’s such a stupid question,” says Connor. “Obviously not. And my arm hurts.”  
  
“I hate to say I told you so,” says Kevin.  
  
“No you don’t,” Connor says. “You love to say I told you so. You get off on it.”  
  
Kevin can’t really argue with that. He hates being wrong, and loves being right. It’s just who he is.  
  
“Where do you think we are?”  
  
Kevin looks around, but they’re trapped in a hedgerow tunnel, circular all the way around, with barely a glimpse of the sky above them. There’s no way of going right or left or even backwards through the door.  
  
“I don’t know,” says Kevin. “Any ideas?”  
  
“Magic can’t be real,” says Connor. “Is it God, do you reckon?”  
  
“No,” says Kevin, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so.”  
  
“Just because you don’t believe anymore,” Connor says, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“Neither do you,” Kevin assumes. Maybe Connor went back to the Church. Maybe that’s why he didn’t talk to him. Maybe after everything they went through, everything they almost did, he crawled right back into that closet.  
  
“Maybe not,” says Connor. “But I’m open to it. We have pretty compelling evidence of the otherworldly right in front of us.”  
  
“I suppose,” says Kevin. “I guess the only way to find out is to keep going.”  
  
“That seems like a really bad idea,” says Connor.  
  
“What else are we supposed to do? Wait for the door to open by itself?”  
  
“What if the road doesn’t end?”  
  
“It will,” says Kevin. He’s sure of it, and makes his voice sound as confident as he feels. “I promise.”  
  
He holds out his pinky finger. Connor latches it with his, and Kevin uses the opportunity to grab his hand and pull him up. Connor stands, albeit unwillingly, and looks Kevin up and down.  
  
“I haven’t seen you in a shirt or tie for a long time.”  
  
“You either,” says Kevin, and tries not to notice how good Connor looks. He’s been not noticing it all evening. Not that he’s ever been very good at that. That’s what got them both into this mess in the first place.  
  
“You look kind of weird,” says Connor. He fidgets nervously, playing with his own tie. “You look just how I remember you.”  
  
Kevin doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He just gestures down the path with a nod of his head and his eyebrow raised in a silent question.  
“Okay,” says Connor. “Let’s do this. Magical adventure, I can hardly wait.”  
  
They walk down the path in an uncomfortable silence, Connor standing two feet away from Kevin, as if repelled by a magnet. Kevin tries - and fails - to not take it personally.  
  
The only thing they can do is go forward, so forward they go.


	2. Two

The path goes in a straight line for the most part, only occasionally diverting into a curve. It’s hard to tell how long they’ve been walking; Kevin’s phone dies after a few hours and Connor’s follows not long after. He’s not sure how time works here. It gets dark quickly, but there’s barely any light coming through the branches at the top of the tunnel even when it’s bright out. The path seems to light itself. Kevin tries not to worry about it, but it’s kind of difficult to not freak out about the fact that magic is apparently real. His entire life really _was_ a lie, which is both horrifying and comforting at once.

“So,” says Connor. “Magic.”

“Magic,” Kevin agrees, nodding. “Weird, right?”

“Super weird,” says Connor, gazing around them, slack-jawed with awe. The flowers are changing shapes and sizes and types as they walk. Some of them are even changing colour, from pinks and greens to yellows and purple. Kevin half expects the flowers to start singing to them. Or for a talking animal to spring upon them from seemingly nowhere, or maybe a mythical creature to come galloping down the path or just - _something,_ anything. But nothing comes. The path remains the same, unchanging apart from the flowers and the light. There’s no wind, or rain, or even sunshine. They’re tunnelled in, trapped, forced forward or backwards and nowhere else. It’s more than a little unsettling.

“Were you cursed by a witch, or something?”

Kevin thinks about it, he really does, but comes up with nothing. He pisses a lot of people off without meaning to, sure, but he doesn’t remember coming across any gnarly old women offering him an apple.

“Were you?”

“It’s your door,” says Connor, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither seek after wizards, to be defiled by them,” Kevin mutters, mostly to himself. It’s a bad habit he can’t get out of. He doesn’t remember middle school math, but he’s had scripture ingrained in him since birth.

“I am the Lord your God,” Connor finishes for him. Connor gives him a small, private smile that makes Kevin grin back at him like an idiot. Kevin’s feelings are somewhat inconvenient at a time like this. Trapped in a magical mystery is probably not the time for Kevin to act like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

“Hard to say,” says Kevin. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

“Ah, Kevin Price. When did you become so carefree? What happened to structured fun?”

“Shut up,” says Kevin. “You love structured fun. You held so many mandatory bonding nights.”

“And you were a sore loser at every single one of them.”

Kevin hates talking about them both in the past tense. It makes it all feel more real, that they’re not a thing anymore, that there’s no longer anything between them.

The ground crunches under their feet. There dirt is compacted, as if it’s been walked over lots of times before, or maybe it was purpose built. There are no footprints, or signs of any life; no connecting path, or any opening in the hedge or just - there’s not _anything_. Kevin has always had boring dreams, though. He dreamed about nothing but a door for over half a year, for Christ’s sake, and he’s never been known for creativity. He’s more infamous for his lack thereof.

He thinks he hears whispers, and he would just chalk it up to the wind, except there isn’t any. The air is perfectly still. But wilful ignorance can be a bliss, so he ignores it in favour of studying Connor and how he walks slightly differently - with a confidence that wasn’t all there before - and the lines of his jaw and his shoulders and tries really, really hard to quell the familiar feelings that are stirring in his gut when he looks at him.

He wonders what Connor sees when he looks at him. He’s less attractive, now, he knows that; sleep deprivation and cheap, microwave meals will do that to you. He’s lost a lot of muscle mass and his eyes often look hollow. He thrived in Uganda; the flecks of blonde in his hair and the way his skin tanned made him look good, if he does say so himself. Physical exercise, no overeating and sunshine suited him well. Being depressed and eating entire bags of chips at a time do not. Does that bother Connor? Kevin has thought long and hard about whatever-it-is between them and he knows that his looks played a large factor into Connor’s initial interest in him. He assumed that it extended beyond that, but he was, apparently, wrong about that one too. Connor probably realised that there are people just as good looking, or better looking, who don’t have a fundamentally flawed personality. He figures that Connor’s feelings for him were circumstantial at best.

He considers just asking him, but knows he won’t get a straight answer, and it’ll probably just piss Connor off even more, which he really doesn’t want to do right now. Connor is such a prickly person. The closer you get to him, the easier it is for him to hurt you.

They get tired easily, because they were both a little drunk on champagne and it’s been a long day and they _traveled through a magical portal, oh my God,_ so they lay down on the ground and it’s surprisingly soft, even though it’s hard under their feet. He bunches up his suit jacket as a makeshift pillow and settles in for the night.

Kevin falls asleep surprisingly quickly; he’s been finding it hard to fall asleep knowing that the door will be waiting for him on the other side of consciousness. He wonders if it’s because of magic, or because he knows that the door has opened for him now, or if it’s because Connor is there, with him, for _real_ with him, and everything is always easier with Connor, even though he makes Kevin’s life a hundred times more difficult. He falls asleep, and for the first time in a long time, Kevin doesn’t dream at all.

When he wakes up, he thinks, _this isn’t my bed,_ and then he rolls over and sees Connor and the reality of the situation dawns on him. If this is a dream, how did he fall asleep in it? Connor is real; he must be, because a Connor that Kevin dreams up would probably be a lot nicer to him. He wants to ask him how much he remembers about the door, about the dreams, but he needs to stop Connor from freaking out on him so Kevin doesn’t freak out too. He’ll ask him later. He gets the feeling they’re going to be in this for the long haul.

He watches Connor, analysing the lines of his face and the circles under his eyes that let Kevin know that Connor has been having trouble sleeping, too. He wonders if it’s because Connor is still having Hell dreams, or if maybe he’s been as miserable in America as Kevin has been, or maybe it’s the door. He starts to feel a little weird when affection starts creeping in and the way Connor snuffles a little in his sleep makes Kevin’s heart soar, so he nudges him awake.

“Fuck off,” Connor mumbles, and rolls over. Connor’s favourite thing about being demormonised was the ability to swear; he’s glad to know that hasn’t changed.

“McKinley,” says Kevin, and shakes his shoulder. “Connor. Wake up. Magical dreamworld, remember?”

Connor sits up groggily and wipes his eyes with the heel of his hands. Kevin watches him wake up, marvelling at the way his face turns from soft edges to hard lines in a matter of seconds as he realises where he is and who he’s with.

“Magic,” says Connor, still obviously a little confused from sleep. “Oh God, we’re still here.”

“I _know_ ,” says Kevin. “I thought maybe we’d wake up and we’d be like, in a hotel bed hungover as hell or something.”

“Kevin,” says Connor, and pushes Kevin’s chest. “Waking up in an enchanted forest is much more likely than waking up in a hotel bed with you.”

Kevin glares at him. There’s no need for that.

“Ouch,” says Kevin, deadpan. “You wound me.”

“Oh, shut up,” says Connor. “You’re insufferable, and I’ve just woken up.”

He hopes that Connor warms up to him a little, because if he has to deal with Connor McKinley’s bad mood for days or weeks or forever, he’s probably going to lose it and snap at him and make everything a thousand times worse. He has an uncanny ability to mess everything up just because he can’t handle his emotions properly, doesn’t realise what he’s saying until his outburst is over. It doesn’t help that Connor insists on pushing all of his buttons at once just to watch Kevin squirm.

“I didn’t dream at all,” Kevin says. “Did you?”

“No,” says Connor, thoughtfully. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” says Kevin. “That’s a clue, I guess.”

“A clue?”

“To where we are,” says Kevin. “You can’t fall asleep in a dream.”

“You also don’t hurt yourself in a dream and wake up with bruises from banging on a door too hard.”

Kevin stares at him for a little too long, clenching and unclenching his fists to double check they still hurt. They do.

“How do you know that?”

“Because you told me,” says Connor, giving him a funny look. “In the dream. You showed me how your hands were all messed up.”

So Connor does remember. Connor was there, the real Connor. He has memories of conversations they had that Kevin thought his brain had made up.

“We were sharing dreams,” says Kevin. “Like astral projecting, or something?”  
  
“This is so weird,” says Connor.

“I know,” says Kevin. “So you keep reminding me.”

“Get lost,” Connor says, and shoves his shoulder. “I listened to you bitch for two years.”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time though. In fact you seemed more than willing to endure my company.”

Kevin has never even pretended to be over it. Why start now?  
  
“Don’t use that against me,” Connor snaps. “If we have to put up with each other, let’s not drag up old memories, alright?”

“You brought it up,” says Kevin, as petulant as ever.

Kevin agrees, though. Better to think about how awful this Connor is, than think about the Elder McKinley he knew in Uganda who was softer and kinder and had a wicked sense of humour, who laid in the grass with Kevin for hours on end and sometimes even held his hand. It was probably better in hindsight, he justifies to himself. Everything seems better in Uganda than it actually was; easy to glaze over the death and poverty and sexual crises in favour of fond memories and wistful nostalgia.

“I forgot how much of a bitch you are in the morning when you haven’t had coffee.”

“Well, after six months you probably forget a lot about a person.”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“‘I’m not great at letting go of things.”

Kevin stands up and holds his hand out for Connor who, surprisingly, takes it. He stands and stretches and Kevin looks at absolutely anything other than the strip of skin between Connor’s pants and shirt.

They start to walk again, mostly in silence. Kevin doesn’t know what he expects to find, but it isn’t nothing at all. There are flowers everywhere; some Ugandan, some American, some he doesn’t recognise. Petals fall around them and it would be almost romantic if he wasn’t with the worst person in the world.

“You’re the worst person in the world,” Kevin tells him, because the silence is killing him.

“Thank you,” says Connor. “I’ve always aspired to be.”

“So,” says Kevin, because he can’t spend more than a few hours without human contact and Connor’s silence is deafening. “What have you been up to?”

“Kevin,” Connor starts, emphatically.

“Look, we don’t know how long we’ll be here. If we can’t be civil to each other we’ll go mad.”

“We’re already mad,” says Connor. “But okay, sure. I’ll bite.”

“Go on, then,” says Kevin. “You. America. How’s that going?”

“Okay,” Connor says. “It’s been okay. My parents don’t talk to me anymore, but I still see my sisters occasionally. They’re pretty okay with everything.”

“My family don’t talk to me either,” says Kevin. “Including my siblings. They’re too involved with the church to understand.”

“They don’t get it,” Connor says. “But I didn’t get it for a long time, either. And they don’t have a you or an Arnold. Maybe they’ll come around.”

“We’re probably better off without them.”

“Probably,” says Connor. “And anyway, I’ve been working at a theatre nearby. Just like, selling tickets and stuff, nothing special.”

Kevin wants to know where nearby is. Do they even live in the same state anymore? Have they been living close by without knowing, or a hundred miles away? Have they passed each other on the street without even realising?

“Cool,” says Kevin. “That doesn’t sound all that bad.”

“It isn’t,” says Connor. “Not really. So, what’s going on in the ever important life of Kevin Price?”

Kevin rolls his eyes. It’s a habit he picked up from hanging around with Connor all the time.

“Not much,” says Kevin, instead of _I constantly obsess over a door in my dreams so I don’t obsess over you_. “I live with Arnold. I have a shitty job, but it pays the bills. So.”

“Thrilling,” says Connor.

“Yeah,” says Kevin, his shoulders tense under the scrutiny. “It’s hard, you know. I can’t afford to go to college, I don’t have any talents, and it’s not like our mission counts as work experience.”

“So go into humanitarianism,” says Connor, shrugging. “You’re good at it.”

“Thank you?” says Kevin, surprised that Connor gave him a compliment so easily. “You need money to go overseas in the first place, though.”

“Hm,” says Connor. “That’s a rock and a hard place, huh?”

“I’ll say,” Kevin laments. “I’ve just been bored. And broke.”

“Me too,” says Connor. “There were so many people, you know? It’s lonely now.”

“I know,” Kevin says, glad that somebody understands. “At least I have Arnold, though.”

“That’s good,” says Connor. “I’m glad you have someone.”

Kevin wants to ask if Connor thought about Kevin as much as he did about Connor, but he doesn’t, because he already knows the answer and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Do you have anyone?” he says, trying not to think of all the people Connor might have hooked up with or dated or whatever. He almost doesn’t want to know, but. Curiosity killed the cat.

“Just friends,” says Connor, airily. “Nobody special.”

Satisfaction brought it back, however. Kevin’s stomach does a little victory dance. He knows he’s a hypocrite - he’s not exactly going to be able to wear white at his wedding, you know - but that doesn’t stop the triumphant feeling that Kevin gets when he thinks about Connor being single.

“Cool,” says Kevin, as nonchalantly as possible. Was it because Connor turned it all off again? Was he just not interested? Was it because of Kevin? But that’s just wishful thinking. There’s no way Connor didn’t spend the last six months pretending he was never into Kevin, or trying to get over him, or fill the gap that Kevin’s unwavering attention left in his life. Connor needs constant approval - as does Kevin, but that’s a different issue - and Kevin was always there to give it to him, and gladly give him it at that. He can’t stop himself from paying attention to Connor when he’s around. They suffered more than one pointed cough whenever they were in the same room together and had a moment of extended eye contact or flirtatious eyebrow raising. And here they are, through a magical portal and in some kind of enchanted alternate universe, and he _still_ can’t focus on anything that isn’t directly related to Connor McKinley. He thought maybe, just maybe, after six months he would be over it. But then he saw him in the wedding reception all suited up and looking - well, looking like Connor, and it became very obvious very quickly that if anything, his feelings for him are more intensified. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all.

“I almost don’t want to ask this, but,” says Connor. “I’m curious. Are you happy, now you’re back?”

“I miss Uganda,” says Kevin, because he does. More than anything. “Apart from the bugs.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, kicking a stone. “Me too.”

They lapse back into silence - that conversation took a turn that Kevin isn’t particularly comfortable with. He doesn’t want to share all of his dirty little secrets with Connor. Connor has a tendency to make you open up, make you vulnerable, and then disappear, taking all your secrets with him.

The road remains unchanging. It’s more than a little disheartening. There’s no sign of anything, any deviation; the road remains straight, the signs all still point forward; there’s no break in the hedge, the flowers are the same, not varying in type or quantity; they’re all bright, and vibrant, no wilting or drying petals in sight. They walk for what must be hours and hours before anything happens, and even though it’s unsettling, it’s better than nothing; something whispers again, behind the hedges, and Kevin gets so freaked out he actually flaps a little and grabs Connor’s shirt at the shoulder.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yep,” says Connor, eyes darting back and forth at the dark horizon. He’s been ashen-faced since they stepped through the door, but now he’s white as a ghost. A freckled ghost, but undead all the same. “I definitely, definitely hear that.”

“Is there someone through the other side of the hedge?”

“I don’t know,” says Connor, warily. “Maybe they’re just voices. Creepy, creepy voices.”

“I was hoping we’d be in whimsical magic world and there would be like, friendly fairies or something.”

“But we’re not,” says Connor. “We’re in creepy land with creepy voices and just general creepiness all around.”

There are whispers again. They sound like they’re coming from a microphone through a speaker, the sound all around them on every side at once. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying.

“Do you think it’s the voices you heard through the door?”

“No,” says Kevin, because he’s thought a lot about this. “No, I’m pretty certain that was me and you on the other side.”

“Oh my God,” says Connor, looking thoroughly scandalised. “Oh my _God_ , that is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I know,” says Kevin. “It’s pretty hard to get your head around.”

“Nothing makes sense,” Connor says, then sighs. Kevin’s feet are getting tired and they’re wearing very inappropriate footwear. “I don’t know why we’re here.”

The whispers might answer him, then, but Kevin can’t make out the words no matter how hard he tries. It infuriates him. He wants answers, and he wants them now. He doesn’t want to be stuck with Connor for all eternity. What kind of cruel punishment is it to trap you with nothing but the boy who broke your heart?

“I think,” says Kevin, but Connor stops him before he can continue.

“Nobody cares what you think,” he says, cruelly.

“Don’t take it out on me,” says Kevin, his mouth a hard line. “I’m in the same position as you.”

If Connor could just stop being the most confusing, frustrating person in the world for more than two minutes maybe Kevin could start to put the pieces of his heart back together and he can start to make sense of his feelings for him. But Connor is so busy being a whirlwind of a human being that Kevin can’t stop to catch his breath. One minute Connor is touching his arm and giving him a compliment and looking at him with wicked eyes; the next, he’s loudly declaring all of the things that Kevin does that annoy him. He’s always been this way, but the balance of the two used to be in favour of Kevin. He used to look at him in this certain way that would make Kevin’s stomach feel like it was crawling with bees and he would run his fingers through his hair and he would -

Right. Best to stop that before he gets started. That was a long time ago. Connor is a different person now. Kevin is a different person. Everything happens for a reason, he tells himself. They’re in enchanted land because everything happens for a reason, and he’s damned well going to find that reason out, Connor holding him back or not.

The whispers start up again. Icy cold fear starts creeping up Kevin’s throat. He wants to hold Connor’s hand, but he doesn’t. He wants a lot of things that he can’t have. Like a shower, and clean clothes, and he really wants to brush his teeth. Like having Connor all to himself the past six months. He’s such an _i_ _diot_ , and he’s a creepy idiot at that. He was just starting to maybe get over him, and then the universe threw them together on a magical adventure that is clearly going nowhere and if he’s trapped with him and only him how on Earth is Kevin supposed to move on?

The whispers start to sound like they’re forming actual words, and Kevin grabs for Connor’s arm.

“Don’t touch me - oh,” says Connor. He tenses next to Kevin and he can feel the hard lines of his body pressed up against is. _Creepy, pathetic idiot,_ he tells himself. “Are we walking into our impending doom at the hands of whispering shadow creatures?”

“Possibly,” says Kevin. He clutches Connor’s arm tighter. “I think they’re trying to say something to us.”

“I know,” says Connor. “I have ears.”

All of a sudden something brushes his leg, and Kevin’s concentration breaks. He looks down and -

“ _Naba,”_ says Kevin. It’s the cat! The cat, of all things, how is she here?

“A cat?” says Connor. Naba the cat is purring and rubbing herself on Kevin’s leg, winding round and round them. Connor looks down at her, aghast. When Kevin looks back up, the whispers have stopped.

“She’s my cat,” says Kevin, bending down to scoop her up. She’s huge, and her fur gets up Kevin’s nose. He tickles her under the chin, the way she likes it. “Well, she’s Arnold’s cat. But she secretly loves me more.”

Connor tilts his head at him, considering him carefully.

“You sent me a picture of her,” he says, finally. “She’s very cute. And fat.”

“She’s not fat,” says Kevin, covering her ears. “She’s just big boned.”

Connor snorts.

“The whispers are gone,” he says. “Did the cat scare them away?”

“Maybe,” says Kevin. He kisses the top of her head and ignores the way Connor is looking at him. “Oh, I am so glad to see you.”

“She could be a demon cat,” says Connor. “I’d be careful. Maybe her eyes will turn all scary like that dog in Goosebumps and then she’ll eat you.”

“I’ve never seen Goosebumps,” says Kevin. “And my cat is perfect, thank you very much. She’s the least demonic thing in the world. She likes two things: me, and tuna. She does not like munching on my tasty, tasty, blood,” he says, and then rubs their noses together. He missed the stupid cat. He’s never been so glad to see anybody ever.

“Meow,” says Naba the cat, leaning over Kevin’s shoulder to try and sniff Connor.

“Go on,” he says, moving closer. “She doesn’t bite.”

Connor gingerly scratches the top of her head and she purrs louder, if possible.

“She’s lovely,” says Connor. Then he wrinkles his nose. “You called her Naba?”

“Arnold did,” says Kevin, shrugging. It’s none of Connor’s business how Arnold wants to handle the situation. If he wants to replace some of the gaping, Nabulungi-shaped wound in his heart with a big fat ginger cat who’s a glutton for food and attention, that’s Arnold’s business, thank you very much.

“That’s so sad,” says Connor, and he looks like he genuinely means it. “I bet he misses her.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, trying not to look Connor in the eyes. “I think we all miss people we knew in Uganda.”

Connor gives him a funny look, but doesn’t say anything. He scratches the cat under her chin and beneath her ear and whispers hello to her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks her. She doesn’t respond, but she does lick his fingers.

“She likes you,” Kevin beams. “How cute is that?”

“Very cute,” says Connor, seriously. Then he looks back up the road at the nothingness ahead of them. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I know,” says Kevin. “Do you think we imagined it?”

“Shared hallucinations,” Connor says. “Well, why not, I guess?”

“Why not,” Kevin agrees. The cat jumps out of his arms and trots down the road. “I guess we should follow her.”

“If she leads us to our impending doom, I’m blaming you,” says Connor.

“Fair enough,” says Kevin. He starts to follow the cat, but she runs off too quickly and disappears into the horizon. “I think she wants us to keep going.”

Connor gives him an incredulous look, but falls into step with Kevin anyway.

“If we hear those whispers again, I’m bailing.”

“And you’ll go where?”

“I’ll go back down the path and through the same fucking door we came through, like I told you we should in the first place.”

“And die alone and scared and hungry,” says Kevin. “Good luck with that.”

“I’m actually not hungry at all,” says Connor. “Are you?”

“No,” Kevin says, thinking about it. “Dream world. You don’t need to eat in dreams, I guess.”

“At least we won’t die of starvation,” says Connor. “That’s something.”

Well. That’s one less thing to worry about.

They walk and walk and walk some more, to no avail. Kevin, not for the first time, considers praying that they won’t be here forever. But he doesn’t, because if Kevin Price is anything, it’s stubborn, and he’s not giving in to years and years of brainwashing just because he got a little bit stressed out and he’s stuck with the guy who literally haunts his dreams and he found out that _magic is real._ It’s only been a day, he tells himself. A day isn’t even close to forever. He’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. He can feel it is his bones. He’s always had a surprising penchant for optimism.

The flowers turn increasingly more Ugandan, something which Connor points out. Kevin wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference, if it weren’t for the smell. Sense memory is an amazing thing. He wonders if it means anything; it probably does, he reasons with himself. It’s a pretty good indicator that this is their world, or a world Kevin created, not one that other people have been before. There can’t be that many people in the world who have serious emotional problems caused directly by their failed mission in Uganda.

They decide to sleep, again, because it’s getting too dark to see and Kevin doesn’t really feel like running into whatever it is that goes bump in the night in magic land. He assumes Connor agrees, because he goes along with it without even bitching once.

“I hate this so much,” says Connor, once they’re lying down. “I don’t want something to eat me in my sleep.”

“I don’t think you’d make a very good meal. Too bony.”

“That’s very comforting, thank you Elder.”

“Anytime,” says Kevin, trying to find the best position to sleep in on the floor. He ends up curled into himself in an illusion of a protective posture. He’s not going to pretend he’s not scared, but he’s certainly not going to let Connor know, either.

His eyes get drowsy quicker than he expected, because he’s bone tired from the walking and exhausted from dealing with his keeping his emotions at bay.

“We’ll be okay,” he tells Connor.

“How do you know?”

“Because tomorrow is a latter day,” he says, firmly.

“Buzz off,” says Connor. “That’s always been nonsense and you know it.”

Kevin turns to look at his silhouette, suddenly very awake and very annoyed.

“Elder McKinley,” he says. “I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t you dare try to degrade what we achieved in Uganda. The Church of Arnold helped all of us and you know it. Don’t act like you’re somehow better than that now.”

Connor is quiet for a while after Kevin’s outburst, but Kevin doesn’t back down because Kevin knows he’s right.

“Okay,” he says. “As much as it pains me to say, you’re right. We did good things. I shouldn’t try to put that down just because I’m mad at you.”

“Do you even know why you’re mad at me?”

At this, Connor does stay silent. Kevin falls asleep before he can hear his reply.

He wakes up without dreaming, again. It should be peaceful, but it’s mostly unnerving. The devil you know, and all that. When he opens his eyes, Connor is looking at him, but he averts his gaze as soon as he notices that Kevin is awake. Kevin can’t help but smirk.

They walk again. Kevin’s feet already hurt so much because his dress shoes are giving him blisters and the balls of his feet feel bruised. His shirt is covered in dust and sweat and he feels so, so gross.

Connor remains silent for most of the morning, only replying to Kevin’s needling with curt responses. He wonders what’s on his mind, but doesn’t ask. He’s almost afraid to know.

The hedges start to break, and Kevin sees something to the side of the path that makes his heart stop.  
  
“Oh my God,” says Connor. He nudges Kevin painfully in the arm with his elbow even though Kevin does have eyes and can see it too. “The mission hut.”

“The mission hut,” Kevin agrees. “Now that is weird.”

“No shit,” says Connor, mouth open. “Oh, this is _so_ creepy, I hate this, Kevin seriously I do _not like this at all_ -”

“Connor,” says Kevin, and he grabs his wrist, like Connor does in the dream when Kevin starts to freak out. Connor goes still so suddenly that it throws Kevin off for a second. He hasn’t touched Connor for real in a long time, and it goes straight through him. He wonders if Connor can feel it too. “It’s okay.”

“It is so not okay, it is not okay _at all,_ what kind of Freudian nightmare is this?”

“Our Freudian nightmare,” says Kevin. “This is a safe place for us, right? The mission hut. And maybe the others are there, too, and they can help us.”  
  
“This is a terrible idea,” says Connor. “But I guess I’m used to following your terrible ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Fuck the mission president. Join our new made up Church. Turn it back on, Connor, so I can -”

“Stop it,” says Kevin, because he doesn’t feel like having his feelings for Connor thrown back into his face. “I thought we weren’t dragging up old memories.”

“We don’t really have much else in common,” says Connor. “Or do you wanna fill me in on gossip and have a sleepover and paint each other’s nails?”

“Shut up,” says Kevin, because he doesn’t have a good enough retort. He’s tired and slow and he’s not all that witty in the first place, not like Connor is, whose dry humour is wry and quick.

“Oh, I have another one. Share my dreams with me and follow me down an enchanted path so we can walk for days before we die horribly.”

“We’re not going to die horribly,” says Kevin, glaring at him. “Come on, let’s go inside. Maybe we can bathe and sleep in an actual bed.”

“Maybe there’s a monster inside which is going to eat us.”

“Shut up,” says Kevin. “We haven’t seen anything for miles and miles. You never know, maybe we’ll go through that door and be back in our old lives.”

“Doubtful,” says Connor, wrinkling his nose. “But you’re the most stubborn person in the world, so I know there’s no point arguing with you.”

“You love to argue with me,” says Kevin. “It's kind of your thing.”

Connor smiles at him, then, his big ridiculous toothy smile and Kevin thinks _oh no_ and then _you have such a nice smile,_ and then berates himself for being emotionally immature and unable to just - turn things off, sometimes.

“That’s fair,” says Connor. “Come on, let’s go inside. Our impending doom awaits us.”


	3. Three

They knock on the door. It feels weird, to knock on what was their home for two years, where people - Americans and Ugandans alike - were free to walk in and out as they chose to, where anybody was welcome to crash on their couch and eat their food and read stories to each other and talk about everything, anything they wanted to. It’s just - odd, to think they might not be invited in.

“Hello!” says Elder Church, when he opens the door. Kevin’s knees almost go weak with relief. He’s never been so happy to see him, not even when there was a terrifying line of ants walking through their door and Kevin was trapped alone with them, stood on a chair and willing somebody to come in and save him because - well, because Kevin hates bugs and Uganda was filled with murderous ones.

“Elder Church,” says Connor, collapsing a little into Kevin’s side.

“That’s me!” says Church, brightly. Too brightly. Church is mostly stoic and calm. Oh, no. Kevin and Connor glance at each other, and Kevin can’t read the look on his face but he knows he doesn’t like it. “And who are you?”

“I’m Elder McKinley,” says Connor. “And this is Elder Price. Don’t you remember us?”

“Remember you!” Elder Church exclaims. “I don’t remember anyone ever having visited. Let me ask the others.”

He moves aside, invitingly. Connor walks in first, with what Kevin can only assume with a false bravado, and Kevin gingerly follows suit.

There they all are, around the dinner table; Davis, Neeley, Michaels and Thomas. They all jump up far too enthusiastically when they see them, and this is by far the creepiest thing that’s ever happened to Kevin. Even more than the whispers, than -

“ _Naba,”_ Connor hisses at him. For a second he thinks he means Nabulungi, and Kevin is so suddenly excited that he might get to see her again that he feels a little dizzy. But then he spots her - ginger fur poking out from underneath the table where she’s sat on a chair. This must be a good sign. This must be where she was leading them to. Kevin resists the urge to walk over to her and pick her up and take comfort in her solid warmth, the feeling of home that he gets whenever he holds her. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t really know who these people are - even though he knows them better than anyone - and he doesn’t want to step on any toes.

“We have visitors!” cries Elder Church, smiling a little too widely.

“Hello!” says Neeley.

“Hi!”

“Hello!”

“Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise”, says Kevin, and holds out his hand for Davis to shake out of habit. Davis looks at his hand like it’s something alien, or covered in goo or something. Kevin retreats, hastily. This is unnerving to say the least.

“This is Elder McKinley and Elder Price,” says Church. “They’re one of us!”

“One of us!” chirps Michaels.

“We’ve never had visitors before!”

“This is so exciting!”

Kevin clenches and unclenches his bruised fists. Connor was right, this was a really bad idea. But he watches the cat out of the corner of his eye; she blinks slowly at him, and then flicks her tail. Kevin takes that as a sign not to run out of the door and head for the hills, dragging Connor with him.

“We’ve travelled a long way,” says Kevin.

“Yeah,” says Connor. “We’re very - weary from our travels.”

“Of course!” says Thomas, pulling out a chair. “Please, sit, sit. We want to know all about you.”

“All about you,” says Michaels. Kevin sits down, reluctantly, and Connor sits opposite him. They look at each other for a brief, unreadable moment, before Connor smiles brightly at Thomas next to him.

There’s something off about the hut, but he can’t put his finger on it. It’s like - maybe the table is the wrong way around, or the window is on the opposite side of the building, or something. It’s very strange, whatever it is. Kevin is experiencing a record-breaking sense of deja vu. Connor seems to be thinking the same thing, from the wide-eyed way he’s looking around the room.

“My name is Kevin,” he says.

“Kevin?” screeches Neeley. “I thought your name was Elder Price.”

“It is,” says Kevin. “I have two names.”

“Two names! What do you need two names for?” says Michaels, suspiciously.

“Uh,” says Kevin, looking at Connor for help.

“He’s very greedy,” says Connor. Kevin glares at him. “He needs two names so he has enough for his ego.”

“Ah,” says Davis, nodding sagely. “This is very wise. You wouldn’t want people to get confused.”

 _Kevin_ is confused. This conversation makes no sense. These people make no sense. The hut makes no sense -

Kevin notices what it is that’s so weird. The doors are on upside down. He kicks Connor under the table, then gestures towards the door to the hallway, and when Connor notices it he goes as white as a ghost.

“Where have you come from?”

“Very far away,” says Connor. “We don’t remember how we got here.”

“We don’t remember either!” exclaims an excitable Church. Kevin has never seen Church be enthusiastic about anything. “Wow, it’s like we’re almost the same person.”

Connor looks at his mission companion in horror. Connor is a lot of things, but similar to Elder Church is not one of them. Other than their dry sense of humour and incessant need to be bitchy to people when they’re grumpy or hungry, they’re as different as different can be.

“So you have no idea how long you’ve been here?”

“Since forever!” says Neeley.

“We’ve always been here,” says Davis. “Hey, do you think they know where the snarflak is?”  
  
The Elders all gasp in unison, and turn to each other in glee.

“That must be why they’re here!”

“Finally! The snarflak!”

Kevin cocks his head in a question that needs no words. Connor tilts his head side to side minutely.

“Do you know where the snarflak is?”

“Uh,” says Kevin to Michaels, who has grasped Kevin’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Yes you do,” says Church. “You just won’t tell us!”

Kevin shakes his head.

“I don’t even know what it is.”

He’s faced with five sets of stony, dark eyes and one pair of wide, panicked ones.

“He means he doesn’t remember,” says Connor, quickly. The Elders all visibly relax and their eyes seemingly turn back to normal.

“We understand,” Davis and Thomas say at the same time. Oh, God.  

“We don’t remember either,” says Neeley, forlornly, his chin resting on his hands and elbows propped up on the table.

“We need to find the snarflak!” says Michaels, banging his fist on the table.

“The snarflak!”

“Will you help us find it?”

“Yeah, Elders, help us find it!”

“Okay,” says Connor, who presses his foot down on Kevin’s. Kevin is grateful, because it stops him from having a full blown panic attack at the table. He knows that Connor knows this, and this is just one of many reasons that Kevin missed him so much in the first place. “Where was the last place you saw it?”

“We’ve never seen it!”

“Yeah, never!”

“Right,” says Kevin. “What does it look like?”

“We don’t know,” says Church.

“Why would we know?”

“Yeah,” says Davis, narrowing his eyes at them. “Why would we?”

“Well,” says Connor, clasping his hands together like he used to do when getting his District Leader on. Kevin understands that Connor feels responsible, will do anything he can to help the Elders, even in this universe. He can’t help it. It’s just part of who he is. That’s one thing they have in common: they’re both people pleasers. “What is it?”

“We don’t know! We don’t know!”

Connor presses down harder on Kevin’s foot.

“So,” says Kevin. “You don’t know where it is or what it is. Why are you looking for it?”

The Elders all stare at him and Kevin feels a familiar sense of hot embarrassment. He’s used to them all staring at him like that; whenever he had a meltdown - or what Connor liked to playfully refer to as tantrums - or he said something especially egotistical and unselfaware.

“Because we have to?” says Michaels, sarcastically.

“Obviously.”

“Yeah, _obviously._ ”

“Okay,” says Connor, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ll help you find it.”

Kevin tries to look imploringly into Connor’s eyes, but he has them fixed somewhere just over Kevin’s shoulder. They are absolutely _not_ going to help them look for it. Whatever it is, Kevin wants no part in it. Kevin is sorely regretting entering the hut in the first place, never mind actively engaging in their creepy friends creepy mission. Just because Connor has an incessant need to be overly responsible for them, doesn’t mean Kevin has to get involved in any of it.  
  
“Hooray!”

“Thank you, Elders!”

“You’re welcome,” says Connor, in his diplomatic voice. It’s kinda funny, because Connor lost almost all of his District Leader habits around a year in, but something about seeing them all in their uniforms must bring something out of him.

“But first, we’re very tired,” says Kevin, faking a yawn. He really needs to talk to Connor in private. “We should rest first.”

“Sure,” says Connor, nodding enthusiastically. “We’re no good to you when we’re this sleepy.”

“I suppose,” says Church, slowly, like he’s really thinking about it. “Okay. You can sleep. But I’m coming to get you first thing in the morning so we can all get our heads together and finally find the snarflak!”

“Of course,” says Connor. “It’s our number one priority.”

Church leads them through the upside down door and into the hallway. Kevin almost walks into the wrong room - well, the right room, but the wrong way around - and Church grabs his wrist. He squeezes it so hard that Kevin can feel his fingernails digging into his skin.

“You’re not allowed in there,” says Church. His smile is doing that _thing_ again, where it’s frighteningly wide and are his teeth pointier than usual? Okay, they’re definitely pointier than usual, and anyway it’s creepy enough that he’s got his arm in a vice-like grip while he’s smiling. This is just overkill at this point. “That’s Davis and Neeley’s room.”

“Sorry,” says Kevin. He locks eyes with Connor, who mouths _get him off you._ “You’re, uh. Still holding my arm.”

“Right!” says Church, finally dropping his arm. “Anyway, that’s your room there.”

He points to the opposite door.

“Cool,” says Connor. “We’ll be fine from here. Oh, actually, can we bathe? We’ve walked a long way. A very long way. Too long.”

“I don’t see why not,” says Church. “Anything to make you feel well enough to help us!”

He skips off down the corridor. Kevin lets out a sigh of relief, and can feel Connor do the same next to him.

Kevin opens the door to his old room, and half expects Arnold to be asleep in his bed, snoring away as usual. He’s disappointed to find the room empty, but also doesn’t know if he could even deal with a creepy Arnold. Arnold is the best thing to ever happen to him and he just knows that whatever a creepy Arnold would tell him to do, he would do it. He’d probably jump off a bridge if Arnold told him to. Luckily Arnold is pretty risk-averse and likes him too much to try to kill him, but a creepy alternate reality Arnold might say otherwise.

“There’s a window,” says Connor. Kevin looks over to his side of the room and yeah, there it is, a window on the wall.

“That wall is shared with your wall,” says Kevin.

“I know,” says Connor. “Guess how much I hate everything about this.”

“A lot?”

“Got it in one,” says Connor. “And the table was the wrong way round, did you notice that?”

“I knew something was off,” Kevin says, getting more and more unnerved by the second. “I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Connor perches on the end of Arnold’s bed, and looks right at him, as if he can see through him.

“Are you okay?”

“Since when do you care?” says Kevin.

“It’s not like I stopped caring about you,” says Connor, slowly, as if he’s stupid. He kind of is.

“You probably should have made that clearer.”

“We should have done a lot of things,” says Connor, fidgeting with his fingers in an uncharacteristic way. “But we didn’t.”

“No,” says Kevin. “We didn’t.”

Connor looks at him for a long time, then finally sighs and relaxes his shoulders a little.

“Maybe it was for the best.”

 _Doubtful,_ thinks Kevin, but he doesn’t say it because he wants Connor to stop talking. He doesn’t need to hear all the things he’s been telling himself for six months, doesn’t want his heart to get trampled on all over again. He just doesn’t have it in him.

“I’m going to go bathe,” says Kevin, because exiting himself out of this conversation is probably the best way to go. Plus he’s kind of disgusting, and being that gross is not conducive of winning your ex back. Not that they were anything in the first place to actually be an ex from, but they were almost there at least.

“Knock yourself out,” says Connor, and lays back down on the bed with his legs dangling off the side.

“Right,” says Kevin, suddenly feeling very awkward.

He tiptoes out of the room because he doesn’t want to alert any of the others and end up trapped in a conversation about where the snarflak is and what’s a snarflak and why are they looking for it and why is it important, especially not without Connor there to rescue him from Kevin’s inevitable conversational blunders. He has a tendency to put his foot in his mouth, but usually the people he’s talking to just move away awkwardly while Kevin pretends it doesn’t hurt his feelings. Not weird creepy possibly murderous but definitely dangerous people-creatures.

He tries to walk to the bathroom in the dark - no problem, usually, because there was no point lighting a candle in the middle of the night to go pee - but the hut is the wrong way around and he accidentally ends up in the closet where they keep the tools and mop.

“I hate this,” he mutters to himself. “I hate this, I hate this so much.”

He eventually finds his way to the bathroom, and is grateful that the tub is already filled with water from the pump outside. At least they’re hospitable, he thinks. Even in this universe they’re all so eager to please. Either that, or this is magic, but Kevin isn’t complaining as he gets in the tub and the aches in his muscles instantly ease, just a little.

He sinks into the bath and feels the grime slide off him, turning the water a faint grey almost immediately. Gross, he thinks, wrinkling his nose. He washes his hair without soap and lies flat on his back, water in his ears to block out the sounds and block out the whole universe around him. He’s usually not one to be alone with his thoughts, but it’s nice, just for a few minutes, to detach his brain from his surroundings and just let himself breathe. There are no Elders, no Connor, no freaky magic dream world; just Kevin, and lukewarm water clogging his ears and his brain.  

Kevin’s mind doesn’t like to be blank. Kevin’s mind wanders; the last time he was here, in this hut, he felt just as numb and as frightened as he does right now. The great unknown is not something Kevin enjoys spending any time thinking about. He tries to remember the last time he was in this tub, and can’t. He tries to remember the last meal they all ate together. He can’t remember this, either. He’s missing details. It’s all starting to fade away, and Elder Price doesn’t know if that’s a relief or heartbreaking.

He has to get out, eventually, because he starts to worry that Connor has been eaten in his absence. He finds his way back, eventually, remembering to use the door on the left side, not the right. When he opens the door, Connor is whole and not chewed up, dozing on the bed. Kevin lets himself look at him from the doorway, just for a second, before moving over and waking him.

“Five more minutes,” says Connor, and rolls over. “Go away, Kevin.”

Even in his half asleep state, Connor wants Kevin to leave him alone. Great. That feels fantastic.

“Get up,” says Kevin. “Get up, it’s still early, you need to bathe. You’re disgusting.”

“Rude,” says Connor, blinking himself awake. “Oh, for once you’re right, I can actually smell myself. Gross.”

“The hut is back to front,” Kevin says, and Connor looks at him with narrowed eyes. “I ended up in the tool closet. Turn right, not left, at the end of the hallway.”

“I’ll have to get water from the pump.”

“No need,” Kevin shakes his head. “Magic.”

“Magic,” says Connor. “Fantastic.”

“Just roll with it,” says Kevin. “I figured there’s no point fighting it. Might as well enjoy it, even if it is a little weird.”

“A little weird?” says Connor, scoffing. “It’s _super_ weird.”

Kevin shrugs at Connor’s retreating back. He’s right, and he knows it. He knows Connor knows it, too. If they fight it, they’re only going to end up in more trouble. Magic is frightening as a concept, sure, and it did transport them into this very weird alternate reality, but it kinda proves that everything Kevin has been saying for the past two and a bit years was _true_ (and oh, he does feel a little smug about that one). Surprisingly boring, yes, but it’s _exciting_ to know something other people don’t, that other people will never get to experience. It’s exhilarating. It’s -

“There’s a spider,” Kevin says to himself, calmly, even though his heart is beating in his chest a mile a minute. It’s halfway up the wall on Arnold’s side of the room and every hair on his arm stands on end. God, he fucking _hates_ bugs. Out of everything he doesn’t miss about Uganda, spiders are the number one. They’re huge, for one, and venomous for another. He found a tiny spider in their flat in America and had to get Arnold to kill it for him because he had one too many run ins with spiders under his bed or in the closet or in the sink or one, truly horrific time, at the bottom of Elder Neeley’s bowl of soup. “I hate you.”

The spider, thankfully, doesn’t answer him. He was kind of hoping for some talking animals, but a talking _spider?_ No thank you. He didn’t even like the spider from Charlotte’s Web, for goodness sake. It stays still on the wall, and Kevin settles himself in to watch it warily until Connor comes back and can kill the fucker for him. He presses himself flat on the other wall (after checking it two, three, four times for bugs, under the bed and even under the sheets and on the ceiling) and thinks about how he hates that spider more than he’s hated anything else here.

He distracts himself with not imagining Connor in the bath right now, but he’s not very good at it so he stops trying, and allows himself to indulge in the idea. Like the creepy, creepy stalker he is. He’s just - he’s had it conditioned into him that it’s _wrong_ to think of people like that, and it’s not like he wasn’t doing it before anyway, but now he’s not a Mormon anymore and he’s allowed to live by his (well, Arnold’s) own rules and he can do whatever he wants. It still feels weird, though. To fantasise about Connor when he’s _right there_ , in the next room, very naked and very wet.

That, and when there’s a gaggle of creepy doppelgangers two rooms over who may or may not try to murder them in their sleep. But, hey. At least he’ll go out thinking about something nice.

He sticks his head under the pillow, and it doesn’t smell like anything. Kevin didn’t know why he expected it to smell like Arnold, but he did, and is disappointed to find nothing but clean linen. This was his home, once, and now he’d like nothing more than to go back to his tiny apartment in America. The pillow suffocates him in a way that’s comforting. _You can’t just stick your head in the sand every time you don’t want to deal with something,_ says Connor in Kevin’s brain. He sounds angry and breathless. He’s stood in the doorway, Kevin pressing the pillow over his face trying not to scream into it. _Leave me the fuck alone,_ Kevin had said. It’s raining outside, pouring it down, which means that everybody is inside and everybody can hear them screaming at each other. Connor had said, _suit yourself, asshole,_ and slammed the door.

Kevin hadn’t talked to anyone for days afterwards. He can’t even remember what they were arguing about, anymore. He can’t remember half of the arguments, really. There was the time that Kevin got a letter from home and told Connor to go fuck himself when he put a placating hand on Kevin’s shoulder. That was before everything got so tangled up and confusing. Once, when it had been particularly hot out and they’d both been sharing the shady space below the window all day, Kevin had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, but then Connor called him a jerk because he’d spent too much time with him that day, and Kevin _is_ a little needy, but he didn’t even think he’d done anything wrong, and then _that_ turned into a whole thing. One time Connor got so angry at Kevin he told him he never wanted to see him again after their mission was over. Kevin hadn’t taken him seriously, had scoffed at him, smiling in that way that they both do when they’re so angry they can’t do anything but laugh.

Connor comes back, eventually, and Kevin is _so glad_ because the spider is still there, all fat and brown and gross, and it’s been ever so slowly creeping along the wall to where Kevin is hiding.

“Please kill the spider,” says Kevin, as soon as he walks through the door. His hair looks much longer when it’s wet and Connor is trying to blink it out of his eyes. He looks over to the spider, then back at Kevin, with an expression that Kevin chooses to ignore.

“I can’t believe you’re still afraid of bugs,” says Connor. “You’d think two years in Uganda would make you a hardened veteran.”

“Nope,” says Kevin, watching Connor slowly take off his shoe and shuffle over to the disgusting thing. “Oh God, you’re so brave, it’s so horrible.”

“It’s more afraid of you than you are of them,” says Connor, predictably. This is not the first time, or the second or the third, that Connor has said that to him.

“They have venom,” Kevin reminds him.

“And I have a shoe,” says Connor, squishing it slowly. It’s so big that Kevin can see its legs flail outside of the sole. Kevin feels like he’s gonna be sick.

Connor opens the window that _should not be there at all_ and deposits the spider corpse outside.

“My hero,” says Kevin, finally relaxing onto the bed.

“You’re welcome.” says Connor, sitting back down on what was once Arnold’s bed.

“How come you’re not making fun of me?”

“I do know what it’s like to be scared of something, you know,” says Connor. “I’m not that much a dick, even to you.”

“Well,” says Kevin. “Thank you. For not being a dick about it.”

Connor leans back on the bed and watches Kevin for a while. Kevin pretends he’s not watching him back. He wonders what Connor is thinking about, what he’s thinking about _him,_ tries not to worry too much about what he looks like right now, with half-wet hair plastered on his forehead wearing nothing but boxers and a vest. He feels exposed, and he doesn’t like it.

“Who do you think sleeps here now?”

“I don’t know,” says Kevin. He’s never really thought about it. “Do you think they just shut District Nine down?”

“I mean,” says Connor, tilting his head to the side. “It’s not like there was even anybody left to baptise.”

“I guess,” says Kevin. “I don’t think Nabulungi has said anything in her letters, though.”

“She sends letters?”

“She’s only managed to send two,” says Kevin. “They need to go to Kampala to post them.”

Connor is quiet for a while, before seemingly decided he’s had enough of this conversation and rolls over. Kevin, for once picking up on a social cue, blows out the candle.

“This is the weirdest thing ever,” Connor whispers to him, after a while of laying awake in the dark. Kevin almost tells him to shut up, in case the others have a freaky sense of hearing along with freaky everything else, but he doesn’t, because he’s scared too and wants to know that Connor is still here, still with him through it all.

“I know,” Kevin whispers back. “They’re so creepy.”

“So, so creepy,” says Connor. “We should leave first thing tomorrow.”

“We could sneak out now,” Kevin suggests. “I don’t know if I want to wait until morning.”

“If they catch us -” Connor starts.

“You’re right,” says Kevin. “We should stick it out til morning. I don’t think they’re going to kill us in our sleep.”

“You’re closest to the door, I’ll wake up when they get you anyway.”

“Charming,” Kevin says.

They lay in their separate beds, and it’s such an odd feeling, to be back here, where Kevin has wished he could be over and over again since he left. It doesn’t feel as good as he would have hoped. The mattress is lumpy and their friends are all weird demon-like childish creatures and Connor hates him a lot more now than he did in Uganda. If that were even possible. Neither of them have really liked each other all that much, on a surface level, but there’s just always been something between them, could feel it from the beginning, like Kevin was drawn to him like a particularly cruel and inconvenient magnet. Something thrumming below the surface that makes Kevin twitchy when Connor looks at him for too long. Kevin has never really wanted anything easy, though. He thrives on commitment, on dedication. Connor - well. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s almost halfway asleep when something presses down onto the mattress. A hand covers his mouth and he feels like he almost has a heart attack, the way his lungs hurt so suddenly and his heart lurches in his chest.

“Sh,” says Connor. “Don’t get freaked out. It’s only me.”

Connor crawls into bed with him, and Kevin is frozen, hoping that Connor hasn’t also turned loopy. In what world does Elder McKinley willingly share a bed with Elder Price?

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t make a big thing of it,” Connor whispers, right by his ear. Kevin pretends like the sensation didn’t go right through him, stirring something in his gut. Kevin very much wants to make a big thing of it. Connor presses his nose into Kevin’s back. Kevin rolls over to face him, but Connor’s eyes are closed and the corners of his mouth are turned down.

“You’re weird,” Kevin tells him, shuffling as close as he thinks he’s allowed. His forehead touches Connor’s by accident but Connor just makes a little _mm_ sound and doesn’t flinch or move away, so Kevin keeps it there.

“Takes one to know one,” says Connor, and he smiles with his eyes closed. Maybe he thinks that if he doesn’t look at Kevin, that makes this okay. It kind of does.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asks.

“No,” says Connor. “This is all a bit much for me.”

Kevin lightly pats the back of his hair. This strange, intimate moment feels so important that Kevin wants to memorise every detail, every sensation, so he can replay it over and over again in his head later when he has the energy to figure out what this might _mean_.

Connor grabs a fistful of Kevin’s shirt, like a baby, and presses his whole face into his chest. Kevin tries to not spectacularly freak out. He doesn’t want to ruin this, this is exactly what it was like, in Uganda, when they -

Okay, so Kevin is sort of freaking out about it. Not in a bad way. Just in a ‘the boy who broke my heart and ignored me for six months that I haven’t been able to get over is cuddling me in a dreamworld manifestation of a bed I wish we’d had sex in like we were supposed to’ kind of way.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Connor says, and Kevin’s heart mends and breaks itself all over again. He gingerly puts an arm around Connor’s back, and Connor doesn’t move away. Connor falls asleep before Kevin does, but Kevin follows not long after, matching the rhythm of his breathing to Connor’s.

When he wakes up, Connor is still there. Kevin feels relieved from his head to his toes, takes a chance and allows himself to hold Connor, just for a second. Connor, sleepily, pushes his head up off Kevin’s chest and blinks at him.

“Hi,” says Connor.

“Hello,” says Kevin, smiling stupidly.

“Don’t make it weird,” says Connor, rolling off him. It’s already weird.

“You started it,” says Kevin.

“You loved it,” Connor says, raising his eyebrows. Kevin raises his back. Are they - flirting? “You’re a lucky man to wake up with Elder McKinley in your bed.”

 _Definitely flirting,_ Kevin thinks, feeling more than a little smug.

“I’m the last in a long list of broken hearts, right?”

Connor gives him a sideways look, and they’re far too close and underdressed for this conversation.

“I guess you could say that.”

Kevin slowly disentangles himself from the sheets and feels Connor’s eyes on his when he crosses the room. He opens the closet to find two, neatly pressed uniforms, just like he thought he would.

“Change of clothes?” he asks Connor.

“You couldn’t pay me to wear those uniforms again.”

Kevin wholeheartedly agrees. Besides, he’s wearing his favourite shirt and tie combination, and he’s not ever going to willingly be Elder Price again when he could just be Kevin. Kevin is much more palatable than Elder Price could even dream of being. Elder Price was kinda lame and annoying but Kevin is much more relaxed - as relaxed as a neurotic mess can be, at any rate - and he actually cares about people. Only a handful of people, but it’s better than none. Kevin has friends who like Kevin. Elder Price had admirers.

“It’s a little bit too symbolic,” says Kevin. “Don’t you think?”

“This place sucks,” says Connor. “I miss our actual friends, not those weirdos.”

“Sh,” Kevin whispers. “They might hear you.”

Connor mimes zipping up his mouth to make Kevin smile. He does.

There’s a knock on the door and they both freeze, looking at each other with wide eyes. Connor swallows audibly and walks over to the door. Elder Church is on the other side, arm already held up in a wave.

“Good morning Elders!” he beams at them.

“Good morning Elder Church,” says Connor, with less enthusiasm.

“You remembered my name!” he says.

“Uh,” says Connor. “Yeah?”

“You have a good memory for someone who doesn’t remember how they got here or what the snarflak is.”

When he says it, he face does that thing again, where his smile is a little _too_ wide and his green eyes turn a stormy grey.

“Your name tag,” says Connor. Kevin is impressed at his quick thinking.

“Oh! You’re right, sorry, Elder,” he says, looking around this room. “Hey, only one bed was slept in!”

“Elder McKinley made his bed,” says Kevin. “He’s very good at it.”

“Of course,” says Elder Church, although he looks between the two of them suspiciously.

“My mother made me do all the chores,” says Connor. Elder Church cocks his head at him, curiously.

“What’s a mother?”

“Ooohkay,” says Kevin. “Let’s go see everyone else, shall we?”

“A great idea!” says Connor, pushing past Elder Church in the doorway.

“Yes! And then we can all put our heads together to find the snarflak!”

And Kevin thought _he_ had a one track mind.

They follow Church into the living room to find all the Elders exactly where they left them sat around the table. Did they even sleep? Were they just sat there all night? Kevin can feel a shiver run through his spine. They’re so _weird_ , and he missed these people in this hut so much, relived so many memories over and over again in his head of the eight of them sat around the table, or squished onto the couch and spilling out onto the floor, playing cards or word games or swapping stories and occasionally making rude puns out of scripture. This isn’t like those memories at all. This is something insidious and downright scary, and Kevin wants to leave as soon as he can and drag Connor with him back onto the path. At least the path is safe, as far as he knows. Sure, there are creepy whispers, but whispers can’t physically hurt them.

“Good morning!” says a beaming Elder Michaels.

“Hello!” says Davis.

“Did you sleep well?”

“You look refreshed!”

“Just in time! We were just talking about how you can help us find the snarflak.”

“We’ve never been outside,” says Thomas.

“Maybe that would be a good place to start,” says Connor, getting his game face on again. Whatever Connor thinks he’s going to do, whatever he’s going to find here, it won’t be the fucking snarkflak. He hopes Connor won’t get too carried away. He feels so responsible for them, Kevin knows, and he knows that Connor carries around a lot of guilt that they all lost their way because Connor decided to believe in the Church of Arnold and in Kevin. He doesn’t always understand that what they did doesn’t mean that Connor failed them.

“But we’ve never been outside!”

“Yeah, never!”

“You’ve never been outside?” says Kevin. It makes a lot of sense, come to think of it. It’s not like there’s anything outside other than the path and the hedge and the flowers. Definitely no snarflak. Not that Kevin has seen, anyway. He thinks he would have noticed. It’s not like there’s been much else to look at.

“We’re not allowed?”

“Says who?”

“We’re _not allowed,_ ” says Church in his creepy, bright voice with his creepy smile.

“Maybe the snarflak will come to you,” Connor offers.

“That’s ridiculous,” says Neeley. “We’re supposed to _find_ it, not wait for it.”

“We’ve looked everywhere!”

“But not outside,” says Kevin. “Okay. Good plan, guys. It’s clearly been working out for you.”

Kevin realises he probably shouldn’t encourage them to leave. Better to escape and leave them trapped here, then chase them down the path as long as possible.

“Maybe it’s a trick!” says Davis, with a suspicious tone of voice, staring over at Connor, who shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He moves closer to Kevin, and he doesn’t think he’s even realised he’s doing it until he bumps into Kevin’s side and makes a soft, surprised noise. Connor doesn’t take his eyes off Elder Davis, like he’s waiting for him to pounce.

“Yeah,” says Michaels. “Why are you saying all this stuff about it coming to find us?”

“Maybe _they’re_ the snarflak!” says Thomas, and they all stand up at once.

“Are you the snarflak?”

“No,” says Kevin, getting more and more riled up by the second. They’re not close enough to the door to make a run for it. “Obviously not.”

“But you came to find us,” says Davis. “Just like you said the snarflak would.”

“It was just a suggestion,” says Connor, sounding a little panicked. Kevin puts his hand on the small of his back, just slightly, to remind him they’re in this together.

The Elders all stand up at once, and yeah, okay, Kevin’s freaking out. He swallows the ice in his throat and tries to move them, ever so slowly, towards the door.

“We found the snarflak!”

“Which one of you is the snarflak?”

“Answer us!”

“I think,” says Connor, in his most impatient patient tone, “that the snarflak doesn’t exist.”

Kevin winces, and prepares himself for -

“What!” exclaims Church. “How dare, how dare you!”

“Are you calling us liars?” asks Michaels. His eyes have gone that awful stony dark grey again and they look like narrow, horizontal slits with how much he’s frowning down at them.

“We don’t lie!”

“Yeah, Mormons don’t lie,” says Davis.

“Exactly,” says Connor. “We’re Mormons too, remember? We’re all Elders here. We don’t lie, either.”

“They shared a bed last night!” Church says, gesturing wildly towards the two of them. “You’re not Mormons, you lied about that, too!”

“We were just - tired, and scared, it didn’t mean anything -”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, steadfastly not looking at Connor. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“ _Liars,”_ Thomas seethes at them. His eyes are stony too, and his mouth is getting bigger and wider and -

“Oh, no,” says Connor, and clutches Kevin’s elbow.

“Fuck,” says Kevin, without thinking.

“Cursing!” says Neeley. “Not Mormons, not Mormons at all!”

Kevin says, “Know therefore that the Lord thy God, he is God, the faithful God, which keepeth covenant and mercy with them that love him and keep his commandments to a thousand generations -”

“Don’t listen to him!” cries Thomas, his teeth too long and pointy and his mouth too wide, and he puts his hands over his ears.

“You’re crazy,” says Kevin, trying to back up towards the door. “You’re all looking for something that doesn’t exist.”

“ _Kevin_ ,” says Connor.

“Connor -”

“Two names! He has two names, too! Greedy, greedy, I bet they’re trying to take the snarflak for themselves!”

“It doesn’t exist,” says Kevin, again. “It doesn’t exist, why don’t you get that?”

The five of them advance, their jaws unhinging, and inhuman teeth snap at them. Kevin can hear their voices ringing in his head even though their mouths aren’t moving.

_(- to take something from another dishonestly or unlawfully. the Lord has always commanded His children to not steal -)_

“Stop it!” says Connor, his eyes wide and bright and wet.

(- _those who steal shall be delivered up unto the law of the land -)_

“You’re not Elder Church, you’re not Thomas, or Davis, or Neeley, or Michaels -” Kevin points at each of them in turn “- you’re a bunch of crazy dream demons. I’m not afraid of you.”

Kevin is, in fact, deathly afraid of them. But as they so rightly pointed out, Kevin isn’t a Mormon. Kevin is allowed to lie. Connor clutches his arm. They’re getting closer, and their mouths are getting wider and wider into some grotesque imitation of a smile.

“Practice those smiles at the mission training centre, huh?”

_(- he that stealeth and will not repent shall be cast out -)_

“Elders,” Connor snaps. “Control yourselves. This is not what your mission is supposed to be about.”

( - _when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren - )_

“Preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins,” says Kevin, waving his free hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.”

The Elders come ever closer, their faces mostly wide smiles of very, very pointy teeth. It’s the most frightening thing Kevin has ever seen. Kevin feels fear, _real_ fear, not his usual panicked anxiety, and he grasps Connor’s shirt at the small of his back and pulls him, slowly, backwards. They’re not near the door enough, they’re not close enough to escape, they’re not -

The cat meows, sleepily, from the table. The Elders snap their heads towards her, and it gives Kevin a chance to knock through them and drag Connor with him, and they burst through the door. They run as fast as they can, as far as they can, until Kevin feels like his lungs have collapsed in on themselves.

“Did they follow us?”

Connor peers back down the path, panting, and shakes his head.

“I don’t think they’ve ever left the hut.”

“I don’t know if they even existed before now anyway.”

They look at each other for a long, long moment, and Connor starts laughing.

“Talk about a Freudian nightmare.”

“I’ll say,” says Kevin, smiling back at him.

“If - _when_ we get back, I’m never going to be able to look at any of them in the same way again.”

Kevin isn’t, either. They were just with them, not two days ago, and they definitely had normal teeth and normal eyes. They left them drunk and disorderly and dancing to horrible music, and they were very much not acting like proper Mormons. He hasn’t even seen them in their missionary uniforms for years. There’s no way those were actually the Elders. He’s not even sure if that was real, if it even happened, or if it was just another shared hallucination or something.

“What do you think the snarflak is, anyway?”

“God knows,” says Connor, shaking his head. “They’re all searching for something that doesn’t exist. Bit on the nose, right?”

“Right,” says Kevin, with a grin, because it is a bit on the nose and it is ridiculous and they, thankfully, haven’t just been horrifically murdered by demon doppelgangers of their friends.

“I hate your cat, by the way,” says Connor.

“What?” says Kevin, scandalised. “She saved us!”

“She led us there,” says Connor. He wrinkles his nose in that way that he does. “Cats are evil.”

“Cats are not evil!”

“Your cat might be,” says Connor. “I told you she could be a demon cat.”

“She is not a demon cat,” Kevin insists. “Maybe we were supposed to go there. Learn a lesson or whatever.”

“This is not a fairytale or a storybook,” says Connor, carefully.

“Are you sure? Because it feels like one.”

“Well, maybe,” says Connor, conceding the point. “But a cruel and unusual one.”

Kevin starts walking again, and Connor reluctantly walks with him.

“Do you think she’s okay?” says Kevin, eventually. “Maybe they ate her.”

“They didn’t eat her,” says Connor, surprisingly softly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because she’s down there,” says Connor. “Look.”

Naba is, in fact, sitting expectantly in the middle of the road.

“How did she get ahead of us?” says Kevin.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

Kevin walks down the path towards her with purpose, ignoring Connor. He’s going to have to practice ignoring Connor if he wants to make it out of here with his heart and his mind in tact. Connor runs a little, catching up to him quickly. He falls into step with him, but blessedly, doesn’t say anything until Naba meows at them. Connor picks her up and holds her like a baby.

“Hello Naba,” says Kevin, standing closer to scratch her under the chin. She purrs. “What was all that about?”

“Freaky magic dreamworld sucks,” says Connor, in a high pitched voice and wiggling her paws. “And we should always listen to Connor.”

“Maybe we were _supposed_ to go in there. Maybe this is all part of some grand master plan.”

“That means that there’s more where that came from,” says Connor. “Oh, no.”

“Oh no indeed,” says Kevin, glumly. “And it’s probably only going to get worse.”

“Fantastic,” says Connor.

Kevin takes Naba off Connor, partly because she was insistently nosing at his palm but mostly because he’s selfish and she makes him feel better. It’s nice, to have a little piece of home here, a little bit of reality bleeding into this dream. She purrs even louder and rubs her face in Kevin’s neck.

“Come on,” says Kevin, walking slowly away from the hut. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay,” says Connor, sighing and relaxing his shoulders, just a little.

They walk down the path, separated by Connor distancing himself but still very much together on this fucked up journey. Kevin doesn’t know what they’re going to run into next, but he already knows he’s not gonna like it one bit.


	4. Four

Kevin holds Naba as they walk, cooing softly at her, and looks up to see Connor smiling at him. The smile leaves his face when he notices Kevin notice, but the damage has already been done. Kevin gives him a smug grin. Connor gives him a stony face and rolls his eyes in return. 

“You think we’re cute,” says Kevin. 

“I think Naba is cute,” says Connor. “I think you’re an idiot.”

“A cute idiot,” says Kevin, to watch Connor squirm. He doesn’t, but he does give Kevin his special death glare that he only cracks out on rare occasions. 

“Drop it,” says Connor, with a warning tone. Kevin pays no attention to him, and beams back at him with a sense of childish glee. 

He’s been thinking about Connor crawling into his bed last night all day and he’s analysed it to the point where he’s not even sure it happened anymore. Did he just want comfort because he was scared? Was it specifically Kevin whose comfort he needed, or was Kevin the only one there? Or did Connor just want an excuse to crawl into bed with him? He can’t figure him out. He’s never been able to figure him out, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying. 

Naba meows, then yawns, then promptly falls asleep in Kevin’s arms. Kevin’s heart swells three sizes like the Grinch and he rocks her back and forth like a baby, not even caring how dumb he looks because the cat is making him feel a hundred times better. He loves her unconditionally and is loved in return, and nothing makes Kevin feel more self-assured than that. Even if she is just a cat. She’s a reminder of home, and Arnold, and the knowledge that there is a world outside of this one, that he has something to go back to. He’s positive that she’s showing him the way. 

There’s a whisper, and then one more. Kevin looks at Connor, who looks back with wide eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Kevin strains his ears trying to hear what they’re saying, hoisting Naba further up over his shoulder. He can’t distinguish words, no matter how hard he tries. He closes his eyes to see if that helps, but it doesn’t. He just doesn’t understand them. 

“Are they even speaking English?” says Kevin. 

“That’s a good point,” says Connor, blinking around them, as if trying to figure out the source of the (creepy,  _ creepy _ ) voices. “They don’t sound very threatening, though.”

“Of course they’re threatening,” says Kevin. “Everything here seems to be, right? It’s horrible. I’m so on edge.”

“You’re always on edge,” says Connor. “You’re the most anxious person I’ve ever met.” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. Well. At least he’s the best at something. 

“I didn’t mean that as an insult,” says Connor, flicking his hand as if he’s waving the words out of the air like smoke. “Just being honest.”

“You’re the most honest dishonest person I’ve ever met.”

He kicks the ground, petulantly, without realising he’s doing it. Connor shrugs. 

“That was meant as insult, I assume?”

“No,” says Kevin, slowly. “You just always call my out on my shit but refuse to examine your own.” 

“Definitely sounds like an insult,” says Connor, but he nudges his elbow with his own. They have the strangest relationship, Kevin thinks. All they do is needle each other and push each other’s buttons, but he still wants to be around him all the time. He’s more than a little obsessed with his company.  _ Masochist _ , he tells himself. “It’s alright. You’ve never really been one to lie.” 

He hasn’t, really, thinks Kevin. It’s not necessarily an old habit, it’s just the way he’s been conditioned. It’s not that he finds lying particularly difficult; he’s great at telling people he’s fine when he’s not at all, but it just never occurs to him to say anything but the truth. 

“I think they’re just trying to set the tone,” says Kevin, because he doesn’t feel like talking about their flaws any longer than necessary. He doesn’t want to start a fight, and he assumes that - for once - Connor doesn’t either. 

“Very atmospheric,” says Connor, as the whispers die down. “Do you think they’re talking about us?”

“Probably,” says Kevin, who is used to people talking about him when they think he can’t hear them. “We’re probably the most exciting thing to happen around here for a good while.”

“I don’t think this is a place you can come and go,” says Connor. “The Elders were all us, right? Who else is going to meet them?” 

“Because we made it up,” says Kevin. 

“Because  _ you  _ made it up,” says Connor. “Don’t drag me into this.”

Kevin narrows his eyes. He readjusts Naba, and his arm is starting to ache. She really is a big cat.

“You don’t know that,” says Kevin. 

“I do,” says Connor. “You’re the only person I know who would do something this stupid.”

The cat jumps out of his arms without warning, and trots away, turning left at an opening.

“Holy shit,” says Connor. “Look.” 

Kevin does look, and he sees a house on the side of the path. The house looks normal, just like any other large house, but the air around it is gloomy and foggy, shrouded in darkness. Naba strides inside, confidently, jumping up through an open window and out of sight. 

“It’s a house,” says Kevin, squinting. Connor tugs on his sleeve once, twice. 

“It’s my house,” says Connor. “Where I grew up, I mean. My parent’s house.” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. “Remind me again, whose made up world is this?”

“Shut up,” says Connor, looking defeated. His shoulders slant downwards and the corners of his mouth are curled into a frown. He pats himself down, and then looks up at Kevin with wide eyes.

“Am I ghost? Am I here for some unfinished business, or something?” 

Kevin hits him in the arm as hard as he can. 

“Ow,” says Connor. “What was that for?” 

“Not a ghost,” says Kevin. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Oh, well, excuse me, but my life turned into the fucking twilight zone two days ago, I apologise for considering the possibility that I might be dead.” 

“Is this what you imagined the afterlife to be like?” says Kevin. 

“I must be in hell if I’m stuck with you for all of eternity.” 

Kevin winces. That one actually hurt. 

“This is too soon,” says Kevin, because talking about what’s happening in front of them is way more preferable than letting Connor insult him. “It’s only been a couple of hours since we left the hut.” 

“I know,” says Connor. “But at least it’s something to do.”

Kevin sighs, making a big show of it, because he knows Connor is right. And he hates it when Connor is right about things.  

“I so don’t want to deal with this.” 

“This one is my fight, I think,” says Connor, with a pained look on his face. “You can come too, though. If you like. I guess.”

“Scared of your own house, Connor?”

“I am when we’re in an alternate reality where we’ve already encountered the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and we’ve stumbled upon my parents house as a clear sign of symbolism of my repressed childhood or whatever.” 

“I wanna see your room,” says Kevin, moving towards the house. The air gets significantly colder the nearer he gets. He draws his suit jacket closer around him. “Come on, scaredy cat.” 

“Speaking of scaredy cats,” says Connor. “Naba led us to the creepiest place imaginable. Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“I trust her,” says Kevin.

“You trust a cat?”

“Of course I do,” says Kevin. “She’s Arnold’s.” 

“Okay,” says Connor, as if that’s enough reason for him to get on board. “Let’s do it. It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

Connor creeps up to the house behind him, using Kevin as a shield. He can feel Connor’s breath on the back of his neck, and physically represses a shiver. Now is definitely not the time. 

“I hate this,” says Connor. “Should we - knock?” 

“I mean, it’s your house,” says Kevin. 

“My  _ parent’s  _ house,” says Connor. “Oh God, what if there’s a demon version of my mother in there?” 

“Then not much will have changed,” says Kevin. Connor laughs. It’s been a long time since Kevin made Connor laugh, and it makes Kevin feel a sense of familiar pride he hasn’t experienced in months. 

“Asshole,” says Connor, but he’s smiling a little when he says it. 

“Come on,” says Kevin. “We can’t leave any stone unturned, or whatever. Clearly we’re here for a reason.” 

“Clearly,” says Connor. “That’s easy for you to say.” 

“I’m going in,” says Kevin, because they’re just wasting time. Better to get whatever is about to happen over with. Maybe last time was a fluke, or maybe it has to get worse before it gets better. Only one way to find out. 

The door opens easily enough, and little wind chimes make a soft, musical noise to accompany their entrance. Kevin really hopes that they’re alone, this time, and the chimes didn’t attract any unwanted, demon doppelganger attention. That’s exactly the last thing they need right now. Or ever. 

The house is bright and well lit; light is streaming through the windows, even though outside it was dark and gloomy. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust. There’s a huge hallway with pictures of Connor’s family littered on the walls. The first one he sees is a tiny Connor with even tinier babies sat on either side of his lap, all of them asleep. It’s the cutest thing Kevin has ever seen, and it makes his insides feel warm. The next is an awkward looking Connor at his high school graduation; he looks similar to the version of Connor he first met, but entirely different from the one he knows now. He’s grown into his body more and his features are more defined and he is, for lack of a better phrase, much better looking. Late bloomer, he thinks. Kevin was getting attention for his looks early in middle school, and he wonders, briefly, what it was like to be on the other end of that spectrum. 

Connor has never really spoken much about his childhood or his parents, and Kevin feels weirdly honoured for the opportunity, even if Connor is only reluctantly allowing Kevin to see this because they have no other choice. He’s spoken about his sisters before, quite often and quite rudely, but never his parents and especially never his dad. He looks at a picture of all five of them on what must be a holiday and can’t help but notice how stilted they all look. Kevin’s family photos are bursting at the edges with people and despite their differences, at least they’re actually smiling in theirs. Connor’s dad looks almost exactly like him, except Connor’s bright blue eyes must be from his mother because his dad’s eyes are a steely grey - piercing like Connor’s, but in a harder, more intrusive way. 

“Stop looking at those pictures,” says Connor. “They’re so embarrassing.”

“You’re so cute,” coos Kevin, looking at another picture of Connor, those professional ones that Kevin’s family were always so fond of, and he can’t be older than four or five and his blue eyes are so big and bright, his whole face is almost one big freckle, and he’s wearing a tiny suit. In another life, maybe they would have been dating and he would have been brought home and Connor’s parents would have sat Kevin down and gone through all of their family photos. Kevin feels a pang of something inside of him, so he follows Connor down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Oh God,” says Connor, looking at four, steaming bowls of soup sat on the table, complete with folded origami napkins and perfectly placed cutlery. “It’s like Goldilocks and the three bears. I don’t want to get mauled to death by a bear.”  
  
“Better than eaten alive by our friends,” says Kevin, picking up a folded swan. “These are cute.”

“They’re Grace’s,” says Connor. “She was really into them as a kid. She hasn’t done it in years, though.” 

“Spooky,” says Kevin. He walks over to the fridge on a hunch, and finds it well stocked, everything almost eerily ripe, like a fake display of plastic food. He prods an apple and it feels real. He considers eating it, because even though he’s not hungry his mouth does feel like he swallowed ash, but then he remembers every fairy tale ever and shuts the fridge door with haste. “It looks like they just left.”

“It’s not right,” says Connor. “It’s so clean in here. My parents are messy, and there’s usually clutter everywhere, and my sisters leave clothes all over the house. It’s like - it’s missing details, you know?”

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t been there in a while,” says Kevin. “Like, it’s just the bare bones of what you remember.” 

Connor walks around to the other table and bends down. 

“There should be a chip in this corner of the table where Rebecca knocked into it with the vacuum,” says Connor. “But it’s not there.”

“Hm,” says Kevin. “How weird is this for you?”

“So weird,” says Connor, standing up and moving back to where Kevin is stood awkwardly in the centre of the room. “I am not a huge fan of what is happening right now, I have to say.”

Kevin considers him, and the way he’s nervously chewing his lip, and puts his hand on his shoulder. Connor doesn’t even shrug it off. Kevin takes that as a win. 

“Childhood trauma is such a bitch,” says Connor, with a sigh. “Look, that chair right there -” he points at one that’s slightly off kilter, as if somebody had been sitting at it and not put it back right, “- is where my parents sat me down to have ‘the talk’. And where they gave me the delightful news that Father Jefferson was going to do some one-on-one sessions with me.” 

Kevin feels so uncomfortable at this turn of events that he flushes pink with second-hand embarrassment. He doesn’t know why Connor is telling him this. 

“That’s horrible,” says Kevin. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Connor shrugs, like he disagrees. 

“It’s just the way it was,” says Connor. “It’s different now. I’m different now.”

“Because of Uganda,” says Kevin. 

“Yeah,” says Connor. “Because of Uganda. And Arnold’s new rules. And, you know. You.” 

Kevin cocks his head and studies him. Sure, he threw it all away, threw Kevin’s feelings back in his face like it meant nothing, but the way Connor is looking back at him makes Kevin think maybe he got it all wrong. Maybe he really did mean more to Connor than Connor ever let on. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe he was just a stepping stone on Connor’s journey of self-discovery, and he’s just going to have to come to terms with that.  


They wander back to the hallway, and Connor points out the second step, where the carpet has faded away a little. 

“That’s where I used to have to sit in time out if they thought I’d been acting suspiciously around a male friend. Up until I was seventeen, would you believe.”

Connor’s voice is hard in a way Kevin has never heard before. Connor is disclosing secrets in such an uncharacteristic way that Kevin wishes Connor wasn’t saying anything at all. 

Something feels off, like the hut did, but he doesn’t know how he knows that. He’s never been here before, never seen pictures, never even heard Connor talk about the house. So how does Kevin know that something is wrong? He can feel it, crawling somewhere under his skin, that something isn’t right. He feels like - like there’s something else in the house; little minute noises that could be explained away as nothing - the pipes rattling, the water in the drain outside, the floorboards settling - are a lot more frightening when you already know that something is almost definitely going to go wrong. He just has no idea what magic dreamworld has planned for them next, and it’s putting him on edge. His stomach feels coiled with anxiety and he follows Connor around the house wordlessly, trying to both memorise every detail of Connor’s childhood and keep one ear out for whatever is inevitably going to try and kill them. Probably. Maybe. 

“That’s Grace and Rebecca’s bedroom - my parent’s room - the study - the spare bedroom - the bathroom - and this,” he gestures to a door with a little  _ Connor’s Room  _ plaque decorated with toy trains, “is my room.” 

He pushes open the door and when they walk in, the room smells so strongly of Connor it overwhelms him for a second. It makes him nervous, both out of the wave of memories that come flooding back to him and the fact that Connor hasn’t lived here for years. 

Naba is sat curled up in Connor’s sheets, snoring softly, as if she’s been asleep there all day. She looks peaceful, and Kevin wishes that could calm his nerves a little bit but she wasn’t phased by the Elders, either. Kevin doesn’t think she’s afraid of anything. One time they took her outside to get some sunshine, and next door’s doberman wouldn’t stop barking her, but she barely even acknowledged it other than some irritated tail-flicking. Even Arnold is afraid of that dog. 

“This is where I tried to kiss Steve,” says Connor, pointing to the floor by his bed. Naba starts to stir at the sound of his voice, cracking one eye open to glare at them both. “I never saw him again. Luckily we didn’t go to the same school. We just knew each other from church.” 

Kevin flinches. He knows what it’s like to make a move on somebody you’re really into, and then they disappear from your life as if they were never there. He wonders if Connor ever put two and two together. Probably not, he reckons. Connor is possibly even worse at self-analysing than Kevin is. 

“There are pictures of girls on your walls,” says Kevin. 

“Oh, right. My dad put them up.”

There’s a million things Kevin could say to that, but he doesn’t say any of them. Being in Connor’s - eerily still and quiet and preserved - room feels more than a little invasive, and he doesn’t want to make Connor even  _ more  _ mad at him by unearthing painful memories that Connor isn’t willing to talk about. Even though he’s pretty certain that’s what they’re here to do, but. Kevin has always had a hard time knowing when he should and shouldn’t get involved in things. 

He looks around the room and isn't surprised by how sparse it is. Clearly Connor isn’t one to hoard things; there’s a few books on a shelf, and a plant that looks far too vibrant and alive for an abandoned, long-dead house, and a neatly made bed with plain blue sheets. There’s lots of little things that you can learn from somebody else’s room, that you just don’t get to know about on a mission. It’s not like they were allowed personal affects, or even had space to put them. This works vice versa, too. There’s a lot of things he learned about Connor in Uganda that he would never learn in America, like how he actually enjoys washing clothes in a big bucket outside and how his hair gets frazzled in the humidity and how he can’t eat rice or stew after two years of little else. But Connor has a little stegosaurus figure on his bookcase, and it’s such an intimate and personal thing that it makes Kevin a little uncomfortable. 

He walks around the room, steadfastly not looking at Connor because he doesn’t want to see the expression on his face. Is he sad? Nostalgic? Happy? Is this cathartic for him; does it open old wounds? He doesn’t really want to know. 

The books on the shelf look like they were mostly for school, along with one, tattered copy of  _ Goodnight Mister Tom.  _ He makes a mental note to laugh at Connor about it, later, when this is all over. If this will be over. There’s a purple jumper over a desk chair, and Kevin thinks,  _ purple doesn’t suit you,  _ but he doesn’t say it out loud. He’s not allowed to say things like that to Connor anymore. They’re acquaintances, maybe, at best, but it feels more like they’re ex-enemies. Like Professor X and Magneto working together (blame Arnold) only he can’t tell which one is the good guy and which one of them is wrong. They used to be best friends, then they fucked it up, and here they are, mostly hating each other. He’s vaguely aware that the world isn’t black and white like that, that real life isn’t divided into good and evil, but he wishes it was. Life would be a lot easier to get through if everything was colour-coded into right and wrong. 

“There’s homework on the desk,” says Connor, picking up an exercise book. “Algebra. I suck at math.”

“You suck,” says Kevin, before pulling a face. “Sorry. Instinct. Arnold.” 

“It’s okay,” says Connor, sighing. “You suck too.” 

Kevin sits down on Connor’s bed and scratches Naba behind her ears, absent-mindedly. He turns to look out of the window above Connor’s bed, and sees nothing but swirling greys and blacks and purples. 

Connor sits down next to him, and their hands touch over the duvet just for a brief second. Connor holds it there - so briefly that Kevin wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been desperately looking for it - before he snatches it away like he’s been burned. 

“This is depressing,” says Connor. “It’s like my room has been preserved in time. I can practically see fifteen year old me sat at that desk trying to finish my homework before dinner so I don’t get yelled at again.” 

“You’re all grown up now,” says Kevin. “It doesn’t really matter. Arnold says that you can’t be held accountable for anything before you’re eighteen.”

“Or nineteen,” says Connor. 

“Or nineteen,” Kevin agrees. “Are you okay?”

“I suppose,” says Connor. “I’m more irritated than anything.”

Kevin snorts. That’s just so  _ Connor _ , to be annoyed instead of sad, or uncomfortable, or embarrassed. 

“I don’t blame you,” says Kevin. “I probably would have freaked out as soon as we stepped through my door.” 

“We did, though,” says Connor. “Go through your door. And you actually didn’t freak out about it that much.”

“I guess,” Kevin says. “I was just so happy to finally go through. It’d been a long time coming.” 

“Is this better? Than dreaming about the door? Wouldn’t you rather go back to how things were before?”

That’s a loaded question. Of course Kevin wants to go back to how things were before. That’s kind of the whole reason for the gaping chasm between them. 

“Depends on the time frame,” Kevin decides to say. “If we get through this, and I never dream about the door again, it’ll be worth it.”

“That’s kind of selfish, don’t you think?” says Connor. He reaches over Kevin’s lap to stroke Naba, who purrs contentedly. 

“You had the door dreams too, don’t forget,” says Kevin. “And I kind of get the feeling you don’t want to be dreaming about me every night.”

Connor goes very pale, and then very pink. 

“Foot,” says Connor. “Always in your mouth.” 

“Sorry,” says Kevin, and turns to grin at Connor. Connor looks back. They’re actually very close, now that Kevin’s paying attention, and Connor is still leaned over him, fingers tangled in Naba’s fur. Kevin finds, quite suddenly, that he can’t quite remember how to breathe. 

It’s Naba who breaks the tension. She suddenly jumps up, looking startled, and walks over to the end of the bed, staring at something in the distance with wide eyes. 

“That’s not good,” says Connor. 

Naba starts hissing. Usually she only does that if one of them has forgotten to feed her at exactly four p.m. Kevin walks over to the closet, where Naba is staring, and hears noises when he gets closer. Oh, no, he thinks. Not again. 

“There’s something on the other side of the door,” Kevin says, freezing up like a statue as he turns to look at Connor, with his mouth hanging open like he’s about to speak but can’t remember what words are. Connor looks at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen, and Kevin wants to shush him and tell him everything will be okay. He doesn’t. They need to get out of here, and they need to get out of here  _ now _ . 

“Oh my God,” says Connor, jumping up. “Fuck, fuck - “

“Shut up,” says Kevin. “Shut up, and let’s get out of here.” 

He shoves Connor forward out of his room into the hallway, trying to urge him to move as quickly and quietly as possible.

He tries to propel himself by pushing the door frame behind him and shoving Connor in front of him, but Connor turns around to look - like an  _ idiot  _ \- and skids to a halt, staring at something, and grasps Kevin’s forearm to stop him from bounding down the stairs. 

“Do you see it?” he whispers, through gritted teeth. Kevin squints, to no avail.

“I don’t see anything,” says Kevin. Connor grips his wrist. 

“I think we should probably run,” says Connor. “Just so you know.” 

Now Connor is the one to shove Kevin, almost falling over him in his haste to get downstairs. 

“Your house is too fucking big,” says Kevin, panting, grabbing Connor’s hand and jumping down the steps two at a time. 

“Mormons!” Connor cries out, still managing to sound as incredulous as ever even in the face of certain death. 

Connor is ahead of him, dragging him along, and Kevin is trying to keep up but he doesn’t know the layout of the house, and he thinks Connor might be trying to lead them out a back door which is  _ stupid  _ because - 

“Connor, the front door, there won’t be anything out back!” 

Connor twists the handle frantically, but no such luck. The door is sealed tight. Kevin feels an all-too-familiar sensation of frustrated need when he looks at the door, but it’s not  _ the  _ door, and they need to leave  _ now.  _

Connor, still holding Kevin’s hand, does a u-turn and pulls him along with it. He freezes, again, and he must see something that Kevin doesn’t because there’s nothing there, it’s just a doorway leading into into the hall, but Connor won’t move and Kevin is too scared to barrel into an invisible monster so Connor needs to be his eyes and his eyes must see something terrifying. 

“It’s standing by the front door,” says Connor. “We’re trapped.” 

“What is it?” Kevin hisses. 

“It’s horrible,” is all Connor says. He squeezes Kevin’s hand, and Kevin squeezes back. “What do we do?”

“We distract it,” says Kevin, firmly. 

“How?” 

“I’ll run forward, up the stairs, and you come up behind it.” 

“And get it with what?” 

“Choose something,” says Kevin. “I don’t know. A knife? Smash a chair over its head?” 

Connor lets out a shaky breath and drops Kevin’s hand, but still presses his side against his, like maybe if they fused together they’d have a chance against it. 

“I don’t like the idea of you being bait,” says Connor, not taking his eyes off whatever-is-there. 

“The ice around your heart starting to thaw?”

“Shut up,” says Connor. “Just go, just do it already.” 

So Kevin does. He runs as fast as he can, grabs the banister on the stairwell and twists himself around it, one foot up, and then the other, thinking that going up the stairs is only going to lead him into a trap and Connor better know what he’s doing - but then it doesn’t matter, he’s not going to make it up there, because something grabs his ankle, and Kevin smashes his head on the edge of a step. It hurts, it really really hurts, and Kevin’s vision goes out of sync for a moment and he needs to get up - but then, but then it drags him down the stairs, his chin hitting every step as he goes down, and he closes his eyes and thinks, I’m going to die. 

His leg feels cold where something is wrapped around it, and everything  _ hurts _ , and he reaches the floor and is dragged along the carpet, the rough sensation making his skin feel like it’s on fire. He can’t see anything, because it’s invisible, and he tries to kick at it but hits nothing. 

“Connor,” Kevin manages to say, and he tries to blink up to see if he’s there but his vision is blurred and his throat closes up and he doesn’t even have time to panic, he just closes his eyes and thinks about Arnold and the dress they both bought for Nabulungi on her birthday and the happy, excited look on her face when she tried it on. It’s not the memory he would have thought he’d choose as his dying thoughts, but it’s a nice one all the same. 

There’s a huge crashing sound, and the grip on his leg tightens and then releases, and Kevin stops moving. He presses his cheek to the floor and teaches himself how to breathe again. He tries to lift himself off the ground but collapses back onto the carpet. He hasn’t got it in him to try again; he’s winded and it hurts, it hurts so much, and Kevin still can’t see properly so he closes his eyes and focuses on the colours dancing behind his eyelids. 

“Kevin?” 

Something touches his leg again, and Kevin’s whole body convulses at the touch. 

“Hey, sh, it’s me,” says Connor. “We’re good. You’re safe. I knocked it out, but we need to leave before it wakes up again.” 

“I can’t move,” says Kevin, struggling to wiggle his toes. 

“Yes you can,” says Connor. “You can do anything, remember? Where’s that charming Elder Price self confidence we all eventually learned to love?” 

Kevin coughs, and rolls himself over. Connor grabs his wrist and pulls him up, then puts Kevin’s arms over his shoulders and shuffles him to the door. Kevin isn’t exactly small, so Connor pants in obvious physical distress and Kevin tries to move his feet more but he can’t, can barely manage to put one foot in front of the other. 

They burst through the doorway and it’s dark out - how long were they in there? - and Kevin almost falls down the steps to the porch but Connor manages to keep him upright. 

They collapse onto the ground when they’re a safe distance away. He assumes, like with the Elders, that whatever-it-was can’t leave the house. 

Connor is on all fours, his chest heaving. 

“Are you gonna throw up?” says Kevin, rubbing his back absently. 

“Probably,” says Connor. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“That was pretty intense,” says Kevin. 

“I’ll say,” says Connor. “It’s not everyday you get chased by your  _ actual demons. _ ” 

“I don’t think they’re demons,” says Kevin. 

“Now is not the time to get all atheist on me, Elder Price,” says Connor, blinking watery eyes at him. “They’re demons if I say so.”

“I think monsters is the better term,” says Kevin. “Until we figure out what they are.”

“You’re the most pedantic person in the world,” says Connor. “Fine. Monsters.” 

“It was literally hiding in the closet,” says Kevin, and he can’t help it - he laughs. He laughs a lot, and he wants to throw his arms around Connor and hug him because this is ridiculous and they’re  _ alive _ . Probably. 

“Stop laughing at me,” says Connor, sullenly. “Poor little repressed Mormon boy, I get it.” 

“Connor,” says Kevin, lifting Connor up by his shoulders a little bit so he’s further upright. “I’m laughing with you, not at you.”

“Sure you are,” Connor mutters. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” says Kevin. “It got me good.” 

“It did, didn’t it?” says Connor, sitting back upright. “That looked pretty terrifying.”

“It was,” says Kevin. “I thought I was going to die.”

“I won’t let you die,” says Connor, and Kevin is grateful, even if he’s just lying to make Kevin feel better. “Does it hurt?”

“All over,” Kevin says, and lies flat on his back because everything hurts. “Especially my face.” 

“You’re covered in friction burns,” says Connor, and reaches out two fingers but doesn’t touch him. 

“My beautiful face,” laments Kevin, to make Connor smile. It doesn’t work. 

“You suck at being bait,” says Connor. “I thought you only did things you’re good at.”

“Gotta try everything once,” says Kevin. His head is killing him and he touches his face to see what it feels like. It feels rough, like sandpaper, and raw. He can’t even imagine what it looks like. 

“And you’re gonna have a black eye,” says Connor, with a sigh. This time he does touch Kevin’s face, just under his eyeball, and presses down lightly. “I did this to you.”

“You didn’t,” says Kevin, squinting up at Connor who’s kneeled over him, his face blocking out the hedgerow ceiling. He wants to say,  _ it’s not the first time the demons in your closet have hurt me,  _ but he doesn’t because Connor saved his life, and besides, even Kevin isn’t that much of a dick anyway. “How did you even get it?”

“Didn’t you see?” says Connor. 

“I couldn’t see at all,” says Kevin. He blinks once, twice. “I can now, though.” 

Connor holds up one finger about half a foot away from his face, and moves it closer to the bridge of Kevin’s nose. 

“I don’t think that works,” says Kevin. “And I think it’ll become very obvious very soon if I have a concussion.” 

“You might have a blood clot in your brain and die,” says Connor. “That happened to like, my cousins’ cousin or something.” 

“I’m Elder Price,” says Kevin. “I’ll go out with more of a bang than that.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling down at him, so it’s okay. They’re okay. 

“I smashed it with a family portrait,” says Connor. “I think the glass got jammed in its head, it was so gross.” 

“That’s so symbolic. I would laugh at you but my insides hurt too much.” 

“I  _ know _ ,” says Connor. “Freaky magic dreamworld is definitely trying to make a point.”

“It’s already made several points so far,” says Kevin. “And I don’t like any of them.”

Connor hums and looks at him for a long, long moment. 

“You look like shit,” Connor tells him. “How much pain are you in?”

“So much,” says Kevin. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m just winded.”

Connor tilts his head. 

“What if you’re not fine? Your face really is - you’re gonna have bruises, and you’re all red and splotchy and it looks like it really hurts. I think you’ve lost a bit of skin on your cheek.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Kevin insists. “I’ve been through a lot worse.”

“Have you?” says Connor, sounding surprised. 

“Sure I have,” says Kevin. Connor doesn’t  _ know  _ about the General, but he did walk out of any room he was mentioned in, so he must have cottoned on a little. “Besides, this is way better than being dead.” 

“I suppose,” says Connor, but he doesn’t look convinced. But then he shakes his head, and smiles at Kevin, briefly and ruefully. “You’re right. A little pain never hurt anybody, right?”

“I’ll remember that,” says Kevin, his lip pulling upwards at one corner in an imitation of a smirk. Connor opens his mouth, closes it again, and narrows his eyes. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Elder Price.”

“I didn’t say anything,” says Kevin, holding up his hands as a peace offering. 

“We should get going,” says Connor, moving to stand up. He holds out his hand to Kevin. Kevin takes it, and lets Connor haul him up. “I’m tired, and we are absolutely not staying anywhere  _ near  _ this house.” 

“Noted,” says Kevin.  

They continue walking, and Kevin’s feet ache and his chest hurts and his face burns. He’s never been so excited to sleep. 

“What a day,” says Connor, and Kevin thinks that might be the understatement of the century. 

“That’s the understatement of the century,” says Kevin. “Are you okay?”

Connor bumps his shoulder into Kevin’s. 

“Yeah,” says Connor. “Yeah, I’m okay. I think. Better than you, at any rate.”

Kevin shrugs. 

“It’s no big deal,” says Kevin. “You’re the one who had to deal with all the symbolism today.”

“Please do not remind me,” says Connor, but he sounds more tired than pissed off. “Tomorrow it’s your turn.” 

“Right,” says Kevin. “Because there’s going to be more. Right? There’s going to be more monsters and more of our creepy friends. Probably.”

“Almost definitely,” says Connor, looking resolutely ahead, even though Kevin knows he must feel his eyes on his cheek. Kevin thinks, for a few seconds, about how Connor has less freckles now. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the obvious effect of six months back in America makes him feel a little nauseous with nostalgia. Kevin is getting pretty good at recognising that feeling. This is what creepy dreamworld is probably for. To really rub how much he misses Uganda in his friction-burned face. 

“Fantastic,” says Kevin. “I can’t wait.” 

They continue walking - what else is there to do? - and Kevin’s in a lot of pain, actually, and his breathing is still erratic and he can’t stop touching the sand-paper rough skin under his eye and on his cheekbone. 

“Is it bad?” says Kevin. 

“You’re so conceited,” says Connor, but the little smile on his face and how he doesn’t roll his eyes for once tells Kevin that he’s mostly joking. “You do look a bit rough around the edges.”

“That would be because I smacked my face on a stair,” he says. “And then got dragged down it.”

“I saw,” says Connor. “I just didn’t think you would want my pity.”

Kevin thinks about this for a while. One of the good things, he reckons, about this place is that the sheer enormity of free time they have gives Kevin a good chance the think through what he says before it comes out of his mouth like daggers. 

“Thank you,” is what he eventually settles on saying. It’s true. Kevin doesn’t want Connor’s pity. He never has. He doubts he ever will. 

Nothing else of importance happens that day, and Kevin is more than grateful for the chance to calm himself down before the next crisis inevitably happens. All things considered, he’s vaguely proud of himself for how calm he’s managed to keep so far. 

When they lay down to sleep that night on the ground, still oddly soft beneath his back, Kevin has been thinking the same thing over and over again for hours and it takes everything in him not to blurt out something really stupid. The thing is, he’s  _ Kevin Price,  _ so he blurts out something really stupid anyway. 

“So are you still mad at yourself about being gay? I thought you were over that.”

“It doesn’t go away overnight,” says Connor, and Kevin can practically hear his eyeballs rolling in the dark. “Some of us have years of conditioning to reverse.” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. “It’s been over two years.”   


“Thank you for reminding me,” says Connor. “Did I ever tell you you’re an idiot?” 

“Often,” says Kevin. “Quite loudly.” 

“Look,” says Connor. “Just because I left the Church and realised being gay isn’t the end of the world doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Did you even know you were still that bothered by it?”

Connor stays quiet for a while, but Kevin knows he’s not fallen asleep, because he can see his eyes glinting. 

“No,” says Connor. “I’m actually kind of surprised.” 

“Maybe this world got it wrong,” says Kevin. “You defeated the monster easy enough, right? Maybe the universe thought it was more of a problem than it is.”

“Internalised homophobia was my defining trait for a while,” says Connor. 

Kevin lays awake for a good long while, partly because his brain won’t stop replaying the day’s events over and over, partly because his entire body is still throbbing with pain. He knows Connor is doing the same, because Connor is Connor and even though it’s been a very long time, he still knows him inside and out and one of the things he knows is that Connor is obsessive and meticulous and can’t let anything go. 

“Can I ask you a question?” says Connor, eventually, whispering as though there’s anybody around to hear them. 

“Sure,” says Kevin. 

“How come you never hated yourself for it?” 

“For what?” says Kevin, because he wants to hear Connor say it. Not for Connor, but for Kevin. It’s one of those things that people have only talked around. He’s not sure if even he’s said it out loud before. 

“Being gay,” says Connor, and he doesn’t even stumble over the word like he used to. 

“I don’t know,” says Kevin, and it’s the truth. “It’s not like I ever even really thought about it before. It just kind of happened. I didn’t have a moment of realisation or anything. And then I was too caught up having a stupid crush to really think about the wheres and whys of it all.”

“You’ve never had a problem with it,” says Connor. “You were one of the first people in my entire life who didn’t care.” 

“I guess not,” says Kevin. He doesn’t really know what else to say. All of the things they’ve never talked about, this is the biggest one. He doesn’t want to screw it up. He knows how sensitive and explosive Connor can be when somebody pushes his buttons, because he and Connor aren’t so different after all. He was usually the one pushing them, just to see what they did. But even Kevin doesn’t have a deathwish, and as tempting as a big, glittering pink button that screams DON’T PRESS ME EVER is to push, he never quite managed to be stupid enough to try. 

“That had a big impact,” says Connor, and he sounds a lot like he’s being strangled. “On me. It was a big deal. And I never really thanked you for it.”

“Don’t,” says Kevin, and he wants to reach out and touch Connor’s hand, wants to touch him wherever he can, wants to curl up next to him and press their foreheads together, share breath, fall asleep together like they did last night. He wants that every night. Freaky dreamworld is making it really difficult for Kevin to just get over it already. He was  _ mending _ . Then Kevin had to get all caught up with magic and astral projecting and murderous doppelgangers and literal monsters with the object of his ill-fated attraction along for the ride. “It’s not like I didn’t screw it all up anyway.”

“We’re both screw ups,” says Connor. “Isn’t that the point of all of this?”

Kevin thinks about this for a long time. He doesn’t come to any conclusions that can challenge Connor’s, and he hates it when Connor’s right. It makes him smug, and Kevin finds his all-knowing I’m-better-than-you smirk to be both incredibly infuriating and impossibly attractive. 

“Go to sleep, Elder McKinley,” says Kevin. He closes his eyes and waits for a few blessed hours without dreams. 


	5. Five

The next morning - he assumes it’s morning - Kevin aches a little bit less and walks a little bit faster, leaving Connor to do a little half-run to keep up with him. 

“Why the rush?” says Connor. 

“I want to get it over with,” says Kevin. “Whatever happens today, I want it to be over already.”

“You don’t know anything is going to happen,” says Connor. “Maybe yesterday was a fluke. We could just be walking all day again.” 

“Then it’ll happen tomorrow,” says Kevin. 

“A latter day,” Connor mutters. Kevin nods. 

“Exactly,” says Kevin. “Unfortunately.”

“We could be home tomorrow,” says Connor, patting him on the shoulder lightly.  

“Wishful thinking won’t get you anywhere,” Kevin says. 

“When I first met you,” says Connor. “You were so overwhelmingly optimistic. You know, screw the Church, we’ll make our little utopian village of converts, everything was going to turn out fantastic for everybody.”

“People change,” says Kevin. “Circumstances change.”

“You went back to America and have been miserable ever since,” Connor says. He’s always been alarmingly astute when it comes to the inner workings of Kevin’s brain. “That’s basically what you’re saying.” 

“I guess,” says Kevin. He doesn’t really want to talk about this. He doesn’t really want to talk about a lot of things, but Connor always drags up his mistakes anyway. “I probably should have stayed in Uganda.”

“Probably,” says Connor. Kevin is a little taken aback. Connor was always a big believer of staying their two years and then leaving, because sure, altruism is nice and everything, but they had whole futures ahead of them and were rapidly running out of money. He was always the practical one, and Kevin eventually came round to the idea of home comforts and sugary sweets and maybe having a stable job, a stable life, to balance out his emotional _ in _ stability. It was supposed to be good for him, having structure again, a rigid order, time to himself, the opportunity to make his life his own, instead of living through a dozen other people’s problems, fixated on solving them. It hasn’t been. It’s been stifling, and lonely, and Kevin hates tall buildings blocking out the sky, bare patches of grass that waste so much water with sprinklers, the sounds of cars, all of it. He misses having them all by his side, rain or shine, working together to create something bigger than themselves. “You can always go back.” 

“I know,” says Kevin, because he does, because he’s thought about it obsessively for months, wondering how to bring up the idea to Arnold, slowly saving up money from his measly paycheck to buy plane tickets, maybe. “I think I’m going to visit, at least. A halfway point.”

“It’ll just make you more homesick,” says Connor. Kevin hates how Connor is almost always right. “It’s better to cut your ties. Not get dragged back with nostalgia and old memories. Forge a new path for yourself, you know?” 

“Like you did?”

It comes out with more of a bite than he intended it to. Kevin isn’t bothered by how it sounds. He hopes Connor gets mad. Kevin certainly is. His palms are itching for a fight. 

“Yes,” says Connor. “Like I did.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you have a problem making new memories with everyone else,” says Kevin. “You just cut ties with me. You got to keep everything you wanted from Uganda, so don’t come and give me your advice like it means anything coming from you.” 

“Whatever,” says Connor, dismissing Kevin’s words with his hand. He was always pretty good at deflecting criticism and making it Kevin’s problem instead. “Once this is all over, you’re on your own. You can do whatever you like then. Stay in America, move to Uganda, whatever you want. It’s not like I’ll see you again.” 

“What?” 

“We can be civil at reunions,” says Connor, nodding to himself. “I suppose.”

“After all this, you never want to see me again?”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“You think knowing magic is real doesn’t change anything?”

“Of course it does,” Connor says. “But it doesn’t change anything between me and you.”

“You’re wrong,” says Kevin, firm in his convictions. 

“I’m never wrong,” says Connor. 

“You’re the most stubborn person in the universe.”

“And you’re the most insufferable,” Connor says. 

Kevin decides he’s had enough of this conversation. Connor can continue to insult him until he’s blue in the face, but nothing he could do will ever hurt as much as the initial rejection did. As much as the third call ringing until the voicemail message popped up. When he realised that Connor was gone, and was never coming back. Sticks and stones may break his bones, but words, at this point, can’t hurt him. Not that much, anyway. And besides, he knows that Connor is just being bristly because he feels trapped and wants to take some control back over the situation. He’s always been like this. Kevin makes him feel -  _ things,  _ and Connor hates to feel things, so he turns it back around and molds the situation into one where Kevin is the one feeling lost and confused, full of angry emotions he doesn’t understand, so Connor can be his cool, collected counterpart. Whatever helps him sleep at night, Kevin thinks. It’s not like there’s a lot else that will. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” says Connor, after a while. “For once in his life, Kevin Price has actually gotten what he wanted.”

“What?” says Kevin, looking at Connor like he’s crazy. Maybe he is. Freaky dreamworld can probably do that to you. Taunt you until you snap. Maybe it’s all a test - the universe wants to see how far it can bend them before they break. 

“Kitguli,” says Connor, pointing ahead. Kevin’s eyes snap up to the right and his heart stops entirely. 

“Kitguli,” Kevin agrees, breathlessly, feeling a weight lift of his shoulders at the sight and dread sitting like a stone in the bottom of his stomach. 

It looks like it always did, only the sky is blocked out by the hedgerow. There’s people milling around, carrying water, supplies, food. There’s Dembe, holding her baby; there’s Sadakka, walking with purpose. 

“Welcome home,” says Connor, dryly. “What horrors await you here, then?”

Kevin has a horrible feeling that he knows  _ exactly  _ what horror awaits him. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t go in,” says Kevin, feeling hot and panicky, his eyes burning as they flit back and forth, mesmerised, by all the people he recognises and loved and misses every day suddenly here, again, exactly like the memories he methodically thought about over and over again. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“We had to deal with mine,” says Connor. “You don’t get a free pass.” 

“Please,” says Kevin, knowing he sounds desperate. His mouth is dry and the back of his throat itches. “I can’t do it. I can’t do this one. I know what’s going to happen.”

“Pray tell,” says Connor. “What’s going to happen?”

“The General,” says Kevin. 

“So? You’ve dealt with him before.”

“You don’t understand,” says Kevin, working himself up. Connor seems to notice his erratic breathing and grabs his wrist, that way that he does, when he wants to touch Kevin but doesn’t know where. The wrist is safe. The wrist is controlling and comforting, allowing Connor to move Kevin around like a puppet until he’s exactly where Connor wants him to be. Sometimes Kevin wants to be directed. Sometimes Kevin needs somebody to tell him where he should be and who he should be and  _ why  _ he should be. Old habits die hard, he supposes. “I can’t do it.”

“Elder Price can do anything,” says Connor, sounding condescending. “And anyway I’m not going to walk for days, weeks, whatever, only to find out at the end that we missed a step and have to come all the way back to deal with  _ your  _ issue.” 

“Okay,” says Kevin. “Okay, whatever. I can do this.” 

“Old memories,” says Connor. Kevin ignores him. “Don’t get caught up in them.” 

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do,” says Kevin. “You lost the right to have say in my choices a long time ago.” 

Connor shrugs. He pulls him by the arm, Kevin dragging his heels as they slowly, curiously and carefully, make their way towards the village. The representation of the village. The magical reinterpretation of Kitguli formed out of Kevin’s memories. 

“It’s your funeral,” says Connor. “Maybe Nabulungi will be here.”

Kevin’s heart leaps out of his chest so forcefully he feels like he’s probably bruised his ribs. He knows Connor is just dangling a carrot, but Kevin is going to chase it anyway. That’s just the kind of idiot he is. 

“Do you think they’ll recognise us?”

“Only one way to find out,” says Connor, forging ahead. Kevin awkwardly catches Kalimba’s eye, and she smiles, the biggest, brightest smile Kevin has seen for a long time. It warms his heart and makes his blood run cold.  _ Not real,  _ he tells himself. He doesn’t necessarily believe it. 

“Elder Price,” she nods to him. “ _ Hujambo _ ! How are you today?”

“Er,” says Kevin. “Fine?” 

“That’s good,” says Kalimba. “I did not see you yesterday.”

“He’s been ill,” says Elder McKinley. “Stuck in bed sick, you know.” 

“Do not go near the children,” says Kalimba, pointing a finger a him. “Kimbay can take care of them today. We cannot afford them getting the flu.” 

“You’re right,” says Kevin, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Your eye,” says Kalimba, reaching out like she’s about to touch it, but thinks better of it. “Have you been in a fight?” 

“Uh,” says Kevin. “Kind of? Nothing to worry about.”

“As long as it wasn’t the General,” says Kalimba, concern clouding her features. 

“He’s here?” says Connor, and Kevin could  _ swear  _ he moves a little closer. 

“Of course,” says Kalimba. “Where else would he be?”

Kevin swallows his emotions back down, but they stick in his throat and come out as:

“Have you seen Nabulungi?”

“Nabulungi?” she says, looking stricken. “Have you not heard?”

“Heard what?” says Kevin. He feels nauseous. Whatever she’s about to say, it won’t be good. Connor touches his elbow.  _ You never want to see me again,  _ he thinks,  _ yet you offer comfort without any prompting.  _ “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She has been taken,” says Kalimba. “She is not here anymore.”

“Taken by who?” 

“I don’t know,” she says, and pats him on the shoulder. “It is okay. She is in a better place now. I heard she is with Prophet Cunningham.” 

Kevin’s knees almost fall out beneath him. If it weren’t for Connor propping up his elbow, he might have collapsed entirely out of sheer relief. 

“Her and Arnold are together?”

Kalimba shrugs. 

“That is just what Mafala told me,” she says. 

“Where is Mafala? I’d like to have a word,” says Elder McKinley. 

“Elder,” Kalimba says, as if acknowledging his presence for the first time. Elder McKinley never really was close to the villagers the way Kevin was. The mission hut was McKinley’s domain. “He was giving a sermon the last time I saw him.” 

“You still practice?” says Kevin, without thinking about it. She looks at him, her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes scrutinising in a way that makes Kevin feel uncomfortable. Connor steps on his foot, pressing down as hard as he can. Kevin digs his elbow into Connor’s side in retaliation. 

“Well, we did yesterday, and the day before, and then the day before that. Are you feeling okay, Elder? Maybe you need more rest.”

“I thought fresh air might do him good,” says Connor. He waves at Miremba, distracted for a moment, as she sashays around them, carrying a basket and a baby at the same time. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you.  _ Kwaheri! _ ” 

Connor drags him by the wrist again and Kevin lets himself be pulled like a rag doll. So, they supposedly still live here. But the mission hut was miles and miles back. Is there another mission hut, here, in this reality? Will the Elders be here again? Will they have normal, blunt human teeth or creepy wide piranha teeth again? Will the villagers have creepy wide piranha teeth? They haven’t met any people since the Elders, maybe everybody here is a demon doppelganger. He really hopes not. He feels a little crestfallen that Nabulungi isn’t here. He wonders if he’ll see her in freaky magic dreamworld at all. Maybe that will be the point. He’ll never see her again. Still, he’s bound to run into Arnold. There’s no chance in Hell that Kevin’s psyche won’t create an alternate Arnold, if they’re running through the most important people and experiences in his life. Their lives. Whatever. 

As they make their way up to the Church, they run into so many people that Connor has to physically pull him away from. He wants to ask how they all are; are the children okay? Are they all still alive? Is anybody sick? Does anybody need them to send for emergency aid? Did Jendyose and Ochen ever get married in the end? He wants to corner Kimbay and get all of the gossip from her; wants to find Saddaka and ask how her mother is doing. He wants to grab Gostwana and kiss him on the mouth because he missed him so much. But he doesn’t. According to them, they saw Elders Price and McKinley days ago. They should already know everything. It’s too suspicious to ask questions. 

“I know you want to talk to them,” says Connor, quietly, as they trudge the half mile up the hill. “But this isn’t real. They’ll only tell you what you remember, or what you want to hear. They’re figments of our imagination.”

“I know,” Kevin whispers back. “This sucks.” 

“It does,” says Connor. “Something is wrong.”

“I know that too,” says Kevin. He doesn’t know what it is. There’s an electricity in the air; like it’s about to storm, only without the muggy heat. It’s not like there’s clouds in the non-existent sky. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Something sits, heavy and overwhelming, inside his stomach, weighing him down with trepidation.  

“Elder Price!”

Kevin freezes. He knows that voice. He knows that voice all too well. He feels Connor tense next to him, and knows that he recognises it, too. It probably doesn’t carry quite the same weight as Kevin’s does, but he can feel fear thrumming through Connor into Kevin where their forearms are touching. 

“General,” says Kevin, squeezing his eyes shut before he turns around. He looks exactly the same as he did the first day Kevin met him. 

“Haven’t you grown,” says the General, before stepping forward and pinching his cheeks. Kevin watches his face, wide eyed and terrified, and looks for any dangerous intent in his eyes. He finds it, and swallows. 

“Get off him,” says a very annoyed sounding Connor. “Seriously, back off.” 

He doesn’t back off, and slaps Kevin lightly on the cheek two, three times, and smiles, wide and toothless. Connor pushes the General, hard, away from Kevin, and he feels relief course through him when he’s no longer being touched by him. He feels disgusting and wrong and needs to get away, get out of this situation as soon as possible. 

“Pretty boy doesn’t like being touched.”

“Pretty boy wants to you to fuck off,” says Connor. Kevin is horrified and eternally grateful to him for being such an idiot on Kevin’s behalf. 

“I am the most powerful sorcerer in the land,” says the General, who seems to grow larger as he says it, puffing out his chest and standing tall, a head above them both. 

“Fantastic,” says Connor. “Really, good for you.”

The General smiles. He has his usual belt on; only there are no guns, but various sticks of different sizes, decorated with different gems and stones, that Kevin can only assume are wands.

“Are you here for round two?” says the General. “Although it looks like somebody else got there first.”

The General puts his fingers on Kevin’s chin, tilting it back, inspecting his eye and the burns on his face. Kevin stands still like a statue. There’s no fight or flight involved; he’s simply frozen to the spot, immobile, with nowhere to run to and nothing to fend him off with. 

“Round two of what?” says Connor. Then he turns to Kevin. “Elder Price?” 

The General grins, and Kevin tries to open his mouth to speak but can’t. 

“He pissed me off,” says the General. “He  _ really  _ pissed me off.” 

“I’m guessing that doesn’t end well,” says Connor. 

“Good guess,” says the General. His voice is grating and horrible and familiar. Kevin never really knew what people meant by somebody walking over your grave, but he’s painfully aware of it now. Deja vu sucks. “Do not piss me off again and we won’t need a repeat of what happened. We can all live here in harmony if you do what I say.” 

“Harmony?” says Connor, and the air quotes are palpable. Kevin winces when the General smiles. 

“You are only a little child,” he says. “You would not understand grown up talk.” 

Kevin can feel heat emanating off Connor. Calling him a child was probably not the best way to go. With the tension he can feel Connor wind around himself, ready to snap, Kevin isn’t quite sure which of the two he’s most afraid of. 

“Go away,” says Connor, eventually. “We have somewhere to be.” 

“You are a rude little child,” the General says. 

“McKinley,” says Kevin, quickly, before he can say anything else. That doesn’t stop Connor from lurching forward, pressing one finger to his chest, mouth open like he’s going to say something  _ really  _ stupid and Kevin has never been able to stop Connor doing anything, the stubborn idiot, but then -

“If you touch me again,” says the General, wrapping a large hand around Connor’s skinny wrist. “I will break your fingers.”

Connor, thankfully, blessedly, by some miracle, gets the hint and doesn’t say anything at all. 

“The next time you piss me off,” says the General, to Kevin, who is trying to make himself as small as possible, shrinking behind Connor’s shoulder when those horrible eyes - oh, God, they’ve turned  _ red.  _ The General is already evil. Why give him superpowers too? Come on, Kevin thinks to his brain. Do something a little more original. Something slightly less hopeless and terrifying. Whatever is about to happen, how is Kevin supposed to fight magic? A sorcerer could probably set something on fire in an instant, or knock Kevin back with a flick of his wrist; create anything he wants to. He could turn water into wine. “I will hurt this boy.” 

Kevin can feel the colour drain from his face. He can also feel Connor go rigid next to him. 

“Tough luck,” says Connor. “I don’t think Price would care that much.”

Kevin knows that Connor knows that this version of the General was born from Kevin’s brain, will have all of Kevin’s memories, will know what he’s thinking and feeling. Punishing Connor for his mistakes would probably break what little resolve he has left. He feels nauseous even thinking about it. 

The General tuts, and then dismisses them with his hand. Kevin takes the hint, pulling Connor away from him up the hill as quickly as possible until the General is well out of earshot. 

“Well,” says Connor, clasping his hands together. “That went well.”

Kevin tries to smile. It comes out more like a grimace. 

“Thanks,” says Kevin, after a very awkward pause. “You know, for getting all protective of me.” 

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” 

“Okay, maybe I got a little protective,” says Connor. “But what else was I supposed to do? You’ve got some twisted history with the guy, and I don’t like him touching you like that.” 

Kevin gives him his smallest, most private, most deliberate smile. 

“Well, it’s nice, anyway. To know you’ve got my back.”

“Of course I have,” says Connor. “Idiot. Your face is all bruised - and you’ve got a gnarly black eye, by the way - because of me and my issues.”

“That was for both of us,” says Kevin. “I was in danger, too.”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “Because of me.”

“And now you’re in danger because of me,” says Kevin. “Fantastic. I love magic dream world. Nothing like hashing out intimate, very personal issues with the guy who rejected you along for the ride.” 

Kevin wishes he hadn’t said it, because the air is so suddenly uncomfortable and Connor looks at him in a way he doesn’t like at all.

“I didn’t reject you,” says Connor. “You never offered.” 

Kevin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s been finding himself at a loss for words around Connor a lot since they got here. It’s been so easy, to get wound up, to blame Connor for being a jerk and for being so aloof and absent. Realising all the ways he fucked up too is really screwing with his head. Even if Connor is still a jerk, so is Kevin. Two very tense, angry-at-the world peas in a pod. 

“Come on,” says Kevin, instead of answering. If he does answer it’ll come out bitter and mean, and he really needs Connor on his side right now. “Let’s go find Mafala. We need to find out what’s going on here before we can figure out what we’re supposed to do.”

The idea of seeing a face as friendly as Mafala’s gives Kevin some semblance of hope, something to look  _ forward  _ to, instead of facing every waking moment like something is waiting around each and every corner. Could be a doppelganger, of course, but Kalimba seemed so normal, and the General is such an obvious threat, that he thinks they’ll be okay. 

Mafala is by the church, like Kalimba said. Asmeret and Mutumbo are there as well. Asmeret is holding Kajuga’s pudgy little hand and that’s how Kevin knows - for real knows - that this is fake. She doesn’t look a day older than when Kevin last saw her, and two-year-olds grow quickly.

“Elders!” Mafala beams, opening his arms wide as if about to give them all a hug. “You missed today’s sermon.” 

“Apologies, Elder Hatimbi,” says Connor. “We had places to be.”

“You mean Elder Price got into a fight,” says Mafala. “What happened to your good looks?”

“I fell over,” says Kevin. “Really hard.” 

“Oh dear,” says Mafala. “Well. Anything I can do to help?”

“Nothing in particular,” says Kevin. 

“Actually,” says Connor. “Can we sleep somewhere, here? There’s been a bit of an - accident, shall we say, at the hut, and we need to excuse ourselves.”

“You did get in a fight!” says Mafala, with that familiar glint in his eye that makes Kevin feel a little sick because  _ he’s not even real. _ “Who won?”

“I did,” says Connor, and Mafala raises his eyebrows, an amused smile playing on his face. 

“Good for you,” he settles on, eventually. “I would have bet against you. I see I would have lost.” 

Objectively, Kevin would win in a fight. He’s tall and kind of broad and strong, if he does say so himself. Connor is skinny and looks he would snap if you hugged him. He wouldn’t, though, is the thing. He’s too stubborn to admit defeat. They can argue until they’re blue in the face, for sure, but something physical? Kevin would probably have to stop himself just so he didn’t pin him down, and, well. You know. 

“I’m tougher than I look,” says Connor. Kevin nods enthusiastically. 

“Well,” says Mafala. “Naba’s bed is free, these days. Might be nice to have some company.” 

Kevin is so grateful for Connor’s uncanny ability to think on his feet. A  _ bed _ , he thinks. And not just any bed. Nabulungi’s bed! He’s dozed off in it more times than he can count, Nabulungi half-asleep draped over his chest. His heart burns with the memory. 

He wants to ask Mafala about her so badly. He’s always had good self-restraint, though. Not after the Arnold Incident, of course, because what Kevin’s done the past two and a half years has been the definition of letting his hair down. But he  _ excelled  _ at self-restraint, before. He was awesome at not giving in to his impulsivity, at holding everything in for the purpose of the greater good. So he doesn’t ask. He pushes it down. Elder McKinley would have been proud. 

“Awesome,” says Kevin. “ _ Asante sana _ .” 

“No problem,” Mafala says. He smiles in a way that makes Kevin feel like everything is going to be alright. “As long as the General doesn’t find out.”

Or not. 

“What is his problem,” Connor mutters. Mafala obviously hears him, because he shakes his head almost fondly, and claps both of their shoulders. 

“We should not question it,” says Mafala. “He likes things a certain way. Which means he likes you boys to stay in your hut, and we stay here. So he can keep an eye on things, I guess.” 

“He sucks,” says Kevin. Mafala shushes him, crowding him and Connor together with arms slung around their shoulders. 

“Be quiet,” he says, with an alarming edge to his tone. “He has ears everywhere. Especially where you are concerned, Elder Price.”

Kevin can feel all of the colour drain from his face. He catches Connor’s eye, just for a second, and doesn’t like what he sees. 

“Oh,” says Kevin. 

“Between you and me,” says Mafala. “This is all getting quite tiresome.” 

“Right!” says Connor. “That’s why we’re here, actually.” 

“We want to help,” says Kevin. 

“You have already helped enough,” says Mafala, shaking his head in disbelief, an easy smile on his face. “We all have a role, here. We must stick to those roles.”

“What happens if we don’t?” 

“Nabulungi,” says Mafala. He sounds wistful and his eyes are bright and wet. “Please do not tell anybody. I don’t want to cause a panic.” 

“What happened to her?” says Kevin. He feels sick. 

“She tried to leave,” says Mafala. “Just for a couple of hours. She wanted to see if there was anything outside Kitguli. And the General - well. He punished her. He said if she wanted to leave, she would have to leave forever.” 

He catches Connor’s eye, again, and his face has clouded with concern. In any other circumstance, Kevin would revel in the attention. He looks at Connor but in his mind’s eye he’s picturing Nabulungi’s beautiful, ridiculous, smiling face, the way she gesticulates when she’s excited, her enthusiasm and her strong-will. He’s thinking about how she taught him to braid hair and danced with him - she used to lead, causing more than one instance of her tripping over his two left feet - and how she used to drag him around by the hand in the market. If he thought he missed her before, he had no idea how much it could hurt until now. His eyes sting thinking about her and the General. What does this  _ mean _ ? Has something happened to her, in the real world? Is Kevin supposed to return there? What’s the point of all this? What’s the  _ point  _ of punishing Nabulungi in a world that isn’t even real? 

“That’s horrible,” says Connor, and Kevin is so grateful to Connor for responding because he feels like if he opens his mouth, something black and sticky and regrettable is going to come out. 

“Prophet Cunningham will find her,” says Mafala. “I know it in my heart.” 

Arnold! Of course, Arnold will save her. Not that Nabulungi has ever been a damsel in distress who needs saving. Actually, come to think of it, maybe Nabulungi had to leave so she could save  _ him _ . That would make a lot more sense. Arnold doesn’t exactly have the most practical head on his shoulders, bless him, and Nabulungi is the fiercest person he knows. She loves everybody and everything, great and small, but she would go to the ends of the earth and back again for Arnold. Kevin’s chest hurts. He really, really wants to lie down. He wants to stick his head in the sand, maybe cry a little, eat so much mac n cheese he feels sick. More than anything, Kevin wants to wake up. 

“I think you’re right,” says Kevin, who manages a weak smile. 

“What are you gossiping about?” says Asmeret. “Here, Elder Price, can you take her? I need to go find Middala for something.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Kevin, on instinct. He bends down to Kajuga’s level, looks her dead in the eyes, and sticks his tongue out. She giggles and sticks hers out, too. He picks her up and she makes little spaceship noises, like Arnold used to make during class when Kevin would let the kids take rides on his back, because it was a Sunday and Sundays are a day for playing. He puts her on his shoulders, smiles at Asmeret, who smiles back and relaxes her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” she says, the relief obvious in her voice. “What would we do without you, Elder Price?”

Luckily, Kajuga pulls on his hair before Kevin has time to spectacularly freak out about that. 

“Ow,” he says. “No. Kajuga, no hair pulling.” 

She reaches out for Connor, instead, who takes a step back as if being a baby is contagious. Mafala and Mutumbo laugh at him, and Connor glares at all of them. She starts making little whiny noises, so Kevin sways a little. Connor’s nose is all wrinkled up in distaste. 

“You were a baby once,” says Mutumbo.

“I was born again,” says Connor. Kevin snorts, which makes Kajuga laugh, and pull on his hair again. 

“If you don’t stop pulling my hair, Kajuga, there will be no spaceship rides for you.” 

“She’s pouting,” says Asmeret. “That is her new thing. I think she picked it up from you.” 

Connor laughs at that, but starts coughing instead when Kevin glares at him. Mafala claps his hand around Kevin’s back. He watches Asmeret leave with Mutumbo in tow, and remembers holding Kajuga when she was so very tiny. He feels his heart break when he remembers he won’t see any of them grow up. She won’t even remember him. He  _ hates  _ being here. 

“I think we should hold an emergency sermon tomorrow morning,” says Kevin, because he’s so tired and saving the world can wait until tomorrow when Kevin’s legs aren’t cramped and he’s slept in an actual bed. He assumes Connor feels the same, if the dark, hollow circles of his eyes are anything to go by. 

“Why?” says Mafala. It’s a good question. Kevin isn’t quite sure yet - he just knows that he has to do  _ something _ , and if they all put their heads together they might come up with some solution. That’s how he taught the kids: if you’re having a problem, talk to somebody else about it. Talk to as many people as you can, rally together, overcome whatever obstacle is in your way with the help of others. That’s kind of the entire point of the Church of Arnold. Even if it  _ was  _ a load of bullshit that Arnold made up when he was nervous, that doesn’t mean that a lot of it wasn’t true. That’s how they defeated the General the first time, and his father did always used to say  _ history repeats itself.  _ He’s vaguely aware that’s not supposed to be a good thing, but he hasn’t really got a lot of options. 

“You’ll see tomorrow,” says Kevin, instead. He and Connor will surely come up with something. “Can you get the word out?” 

“Sure,” says Mafala. “As you know, word travels fast.”

“Try not to let it travel too far,” says Connor. Mafala raises his eyebrows, but nods anyway. 

“Come over tonight, but try not to let him see you,” says Mafala. Kevin nods once, twice, and waves him off. 

“So,” says Connor. “What’s the plan?” 

“No idea,” says Kevin. 

“Amazing,” says Connor. “Well. Exploring?”

“Exploring,” Kevin agrees. Not that there’s much to explore. He knows this village like the back of his hand.  _ Better  _ than the back of his hand. He can’t imagine there’ll be anything new, but getting more information is probably their best bet, here. Kevin isn’t entirely sure how he’s going to single-handedly overthrow the General. It didn’t exactly work out so great last time. 

Now he has Connor, though, and that’s got to stand for something. Two heads are better than one or whatever. Connor is pragmatic in a way that Kevin - well, that Kevin is not. At all. Kevin wants to say he’s more rational, too, but he’s not sure if  _ that’s  _ true. He’s just as hot-headed as Kevin is. That’s one thing they have in common, at least. Their tempers. 

“Wanna split up?”

“Kevin,” says Connor, giving him a  _ look.  _ “Do you really think I’m going to leave you alone here?”

Kevin shrugs. 

“Didn’t know you cared so much, Elder McKinley,” says Kevin. Connor scowls at him. 

They wander around the village a little, but nothing really comes up. They can’t ask too many questions, because they don’t want to raise any suspicions, and Kevin’s banged-up face is already raising eyebrows. The situation seems simple enough, if a little daunting. There’s the village, and then there’s the General, and he has eyes and ears everywhere. They’re afraid of him, he gets a little wand-happy, and Kevin is going to get rid of him once and for all for them. He has to do  _ something,  _ after all. That’s the kind of guy he is. He just can’t let things be. Especially where the General is involved. Maybe that’s something that dreamworld can do for him. Maybe he’s here so he can undo some past mistakes. Rewrite his own history. Why else would Connor be here, too? 

But still, that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Exhausted, they make their way back to Mafala’s hut when the sun starts to set. He’s so excited for a  _ bed.  _ The ground may be surprisingly comfortable, but the thought of an actual pillow kind of makes him want to cry. 

Nabulungi’s bed is tiny. He doesn’t remember having that much of a problem squeezing the two of them under the covers when Kevin was feeling particularly sorry for himself and Nabulungi would tell him depressing stories with a smile on her face so he would know  _ it isn’t all bad, Elder.  _ Nabulungi is a lot smaller than Connor, for one, and for another he and Nabulungi never really had any personal space issues. The three of them were constantly all over each other. He knew, at the time, that it made Connor incessantly jealous. He told him as much, one day, when they were laid by the river with the backs of their hands touching. He played it off like he wanted friends like Kevin and Arnold and Nabulungi. Kevin knew better even at the time, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Still, they shared a single bed at the hut. They can share it here, now, too, whether Connor likes it or not. This was his idea, after all.

“Stop wriggling,” Kevin says. “Your elbows are so pointy.” 

“You can handle it,” says Connor, wriggling even more just to annoy him. 

They’re laid top to tail, because Connor has apparently reversed back into nothing-too-gay mode, the version of him in between Elder McKinley and Connor. Kevin doesn’t mind. Whatever gets them through the night. Kevin just wants to get out of here, out of Kitguli. His brain is swimming with a thousand memories that torment him when he closes his eyes; Sadaka and Nabulungi in tears from laughing so hard at Arnold’s questionable retelling of Blade Runner, Asmeret handing a tiny Kajuga over to Kevin, gossiping with Dembe after class. Kimbay helping him learn Swahili so the kids will understand him better. Thomas and Miremba at an engagement party holding hands where they thought nobody could see. Gotswana giving Michaels stitches after he fell unceremoniously off a chair when he found a line of fireants crawling under the door. He squeezes his eyes shut even harder, as if that’ll help. The bed still smells like Nabulungi. 

“Stop thinking,” says Connor, his voice sounding far away.  

“I’m trying,” says Kevin. “This is all a bit much for me.”

Church and Mutumbo’s odd friendship. Organising soccer competitions, where to Kevin’s chagrin, Davis was the undisputed winner. Kalimba teaching Kevin how to cook. Even at home, now, in America, he ends up making chicken stew a lot because he certainly never learned how to cook before he left for Uganda in the first place, so he hasn’t got much practice with anything else that doesn’t involve a microwave. The General. All of it. 

“If I come up there and give you a hug,” says Connor. “Are you going to make it weird?” 

“Probably,” says Kevin, because even now he doesn’t often see the point in lying. 

“Okay,” says Connor, and Kevin can feel him shift, turn himself around, and slide into Kevin’s space. Their faces are very close. Their torsos are touching. Whatever Connor is thinking, it’s  _ working _ , because now Kevin can’t think about anything else other than how Connor’s stupid blue eyes haven’t looked away from his and how close their mouths are and how Connor’s arm is draped casually over Kevin, hand pressing lightly on the small of his back. 

“You’re the one making it weird, you know,” says Kevin, as softly as possible. “This is twice now you’ve willingly cuddled me.” 

“I know,” says Connor. He doesn’t say anything else. Kevin decides to drop it, because he’s comfortable, but mostly because he’s terrified. Because if he only gets this now, if this is the only chance Kevin will have to be this close to Connor, he’ll take it. Because he’s kind of pathetic and an unquestionable loser. 

“How are we going to stop him?” 

“You’ve done it before,” Connor whispers. “You can do it again.” 

Kevin shakes his head. 

“We just got lucky,” says Kevin. 

“How did you do it? I don’t think you ever told me.” 

“We threatened to turn him into a lesbian,” says Kevin. 

He can feel Connor’s shoulders start to shake before he sees it. Connor presses his forehead in the curve of Kevin’s neck and shoulder and tries not to make a sound while he laughs. His hand presses down slightly harder, and Kevin wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it. He thinks his heart might stop beating any second. Cause of death, Elder McKinley. Sounds about right. 

“That is so ridiculous,” says Connor. “You’re so ridiculous.” 

“Blame Arnold,” says Kevin. 

“Arnold didn’t change who you are as a person, you know. You were always in there. A ridiculous, over emotional caffeine addict. You were just - how did you describe us? A brainwashed zombie.” 

“Maybe that was a little harsh,” Kevin says. 

“No,” Connor shakes his head. “Maybe not everybody, you know. The Church just wasn’t for us.” 

“Did anybody go back?” says Kevin. 

“Almost everybody,” says Connor, and Kevin feels his heart sink. “I think it’s only you, me, and Church. Oh, and Arnold.”

“He was barely a Mormon anyway,” says Kevin. “Did you know he’s never even read the thing?” 

“You’re kidding,” says Connor. 

Kevin is struck by how oddly normal this feels, curled up in a single bed with Connor, a raging magical warlord outside, gossiping like nothing is wrong with the world. He tries to not let himself get too comfortable with the idea of he and Connor sharing a bed, in a non-sexual way, just - talking. He fails.

“Our parents were harsher on us,” says Connor. “Like, Michaels’ parents wouldn’t care if he left the church or not, but he decided to stay anyway. You know?” 

Kevin does know. 

“Easier to let them go, I guess.”

“No,” says Connor. “No, you know that’s not true. They just made it harder to be a Mormon.”

Kevin - because he is impulsive and strange and does things even he doesn’t understand - leans forward a little, and presses their foreheads together, like last time. Connor’s eyes flutter shut, and he doesn’t move, brings Kevin slightly closer with the hand on his back. Kevin puts his awkward, spare hand Connor’s arm. 

“We’ll be okay,” says Connor, as if it’s as sure as the sun still being in the sky tomorrow. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” 

Connor still hasn’t opened his eyes, sounding sleepier by the second. Kevin feels a little bit like he’s about to cry. Five days ago, Connor didn’t return his call. This world is back to front and doesn’t make sense, and Kevin can’t be sure of anything here. He’s painfully aware that tensions are heightened. That this probably doesn’t mean anything, really. Just two people sharing comfort in a particularly trying circumstance where they have nobody but each other. He swallows. 

He feels worse the deeper Connor sleeps, watching his face twitch and his nose scrunch up in distaste, even unconscious. He thinks about the General. He thinks about the General hurting him, hurting Connor, hurting any single person here. He thinks about Connor being hurt at all, thinks about seeing their friends’ doppelgangers, about invisible monsters, and magical warlords. He thinks about the hundreds of people outside the hut he’s itching to talk to. He thinks so much that it all blends into one, singular, fearful feeling, sitting like a hard stone in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Connor snuffles, and rolls over, breaking Kevin’s reverie. He falls asleep, very carefully not touching Connor, knowing that he has to do things on his own, sometimes, and turning to Connor for anything is going to end in a broken heart.  
  



	6. Six

Waking up with his forehead pressed into Connor’s back is a surprisingly unpleasant experience. It’s incredibly hot, and Kevin thinks his sweaty face is actually stuck to Connor’s shirt. 

“Hnnnng,” says Connor, eloquently, when Kevin peels himself away. At some point in the night, Connor seems to have stolen the pillow and the blanket, hugging them to himself in a painfully adorable fashion. “What?”

“You’re a sleep thief,” Kevin says. 

Connor throws the blanket onto the floor in an undignified heap. It’s a childish gesture that’s very out of character for Elder McKinley. He stretches and makes noises like Naba the cat. 

“Oh my God, it’s  _ so hot, _ ” says Connor. “I forgot how hot it could get here.” 

“It’s no worse than the East Coast,” says Kevin. “You’re from New Jersey, you baby.”

Connor throws the pillow at Kevin’s face. It makes Kevin smile like an idiot. 

“Fuck off,” says Connor, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hands. 

“Good morning to you too,” says Kevin. Then he adds, “sunshine.” 

“Never call me that again,” Connor says, sitting upright. “Dick.” 

Kevin shrugs. 

“How about honey? Pumpkin? Sweetie?” 

“I hate you.” 

Kevin grins, until he remembers exactly where they are and why they’re here.

“I could kill somebody for a coffee right now,” he says. “I should be caffeinated if I have to deal with a magical warlord.” 

Connor cocks his head at him in some kind of imitation of sympathy. He even pouts a little. Kevin throws the pillow back at him. 

The thing is, Kevin  _ really  _ isn’t looking forward to today. He’d much rather take the pillow back, scream into it, and then sleep for the next two days. He barely feels rested at all. It’s the anxiety, he tells himself. He makes a note to himself to  _ finally  _ see a therapist when he gets home, because if he thought he probably needed one before, he had  _ no  _ idea he was going to end up in some kind of magical dream Hellscape. Not that he could explain to them everything that’s happened - is  _ happening  _ \- without them locking him up for being crazy. Maybe he is crazy. It would explain a lot. 

“Let’s just not do this,” Kevin tries. “We could just leave.”

Connor snorts. 

“Tough luck,” he says. “Come on, get up. You always were terrible in the mornings.” 

“Only when I fell asleep on the couch and you woke me up before sunrise,” Kevin corrects him. 

“You’re a cranky napper,” Connor agrees. “Well, you’re a cranky everything.” 

“Hypocrite.” 

Connor, to Kevin’s delight, sticks his tongue out. 

“So,” he says. “Magic.” 

“I know,” says Kevin, because he’s painfully aware. “What kind of magic do you think?” 

“No idea,” says Connor. “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Fire magic, probably, Kevin thinks. It seems fitting. Aggressive. Intimidating. Destructive. Unnecessarily dramatic. That and Kevin is afraid of it. He hopes the General doesn’t have an army of spiders at his disposal. That would really, really suck. Kevin is powerless in the face of all those  _ legs.  _

They get out of bed slowly, reluctantly. Kevin tries miserably to flatten his hair, feeling it stick up at the back. He catches Connor scowling at him. They make some very uncomfortable eye contact, not that Kevin understands why it’s uncomfortable - well, not until Connor leans forward aggressively, and with an open palm, smoothes Kevin’s hair back. Kevin stares at him, going cross eyed, unable to stop looking at the freckles on his nose, unable to control his eyes when Connor is  _ so close.  _ Connor, thankfully, absolutely does not look back. Well, when he pulls away he glares at Kevin like he somehow forced him to do something he finds particularly distasteful. Like taking the garbage out. 

“Thanks,” Kevin mutters, running his hands over the back of his head reflexively. 

“Have to look your best in the face of certain death,” says Connor. “I know you would hate your legacy to involve a bad hair day.” 

“You know me so well,” says Kevin. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” says Connor, solemnly. 

Kevin has got no concept of what time it is. It could be late afternoon for all he knows. It might not even be the next day. Kevin needs to sleep for a week. Mafala greets them with a friendly  _ habari za asubuhi _ , though, so Kevin knows it must be before noon. 

“Habari,” Kevin agrees. “Thanks for letting us stay here.” 

Mafala shrugs. 

“You have done a lot for us, Elder Price,” he says. “Least I could do.” 

“It must be lonely,” says Connor, and Kevin stands on his foot. 

“It is nice to have people in the hut again,” says Mafala with a shrug. “Are you ready for the sermon?”

“Uh,” says Kevin, because he has not planned anything at all and suddenly regrets every life choice he’s ever made that led him to be this indecisive. Kevin Price is not  _ indecisive.  _ He’s a decision maker. He’s confident in all the ways he shouldn’t be, he’s authoritative, and he at least  _ acts  _ like he knows what he’s doing. “Yeah, okay.” 

He hopes that Connor will be especially Connor-esque today and save Kevin from sticking his entire foot in his mouth. 

“‘It must be lonely?’” says Kevin out of the corner of his mouth as they walk to the Church. 

“Yeah, well,” says Connor, lagging behind. Connor doesn’t deal well with any kind of heat. He’s more a creature of rain. He would only appear in the mission hut doorway when there were dark clouds in the sky, bleary eyed and confused, before stepping confidently into the rain like he actually  _ enjoys _ it. He’s like a vampire, Kevin thinks. Aversion to sunlight, hates having his picture taken, consistently emotionless, and to be perfectly honest it would barely surprise Kevin at this point in his ridiculous, magic-is-real life if it turned out Connor was a soulless immortal being. “I spend a lot of time alone. My roommate is never home.”

Connor has a roommate. Of course he does. It just never really occurred to Kevin that Connor doesn’t live in a little bubble, preserved in time in the Mission Hut barking orders, smiling mischievously every so often, kicking all their asses at Go Fish. He has a whole life now, with new people. Like Kevin does, he has friends from work and the bartender down the road knows him by name; there’s a lady who he makes small talk with on his morning train; the small guy who owns the corner shop that Kevin can never remember the name of. Of course Connor has a roommate. 

“Who’s your roommate?” 

“His name is Colin, and he’s pretty much the worst,” says Connor. “He’s even harder to live with than you, can you believe it. At least you clean up after yourself.” 

“Mormon?”

“Hardly,” says Connor, with half a smile. 

Kevin gets a little out of breath walking up the hill, which is ridiculous because he stopped panting halfway up like, three months into their mission. He exercises, sure, because he’s got too much pride in his appearance to  _ not,  _ but he has been walking for days on end and he  _ did  _ get attacked two days ago. Uganda was so good for him, he thinks miserably. In every way it could have been good, it was. He doesn’t miss mosquito bites and no running water, and you know,  _ people dying,  _ but he was a much better person there. He glances over at Connor and thinks maybe they all were. 

The church looks the same inside as it always did; barren and empty, save for some decorative hangings and a seemingly endless pile of the Book of Arnold stashed away behind the altar. There’s haphazard chairs, already seating two dozen people Kevin wants to kiss on the mouth. Kimbay, who was - all things considered - probably Kevin’s partner-in-crime, even more so than Arnold, gives Kevin a little wave. Kevin almost bursts into tears at the sight of her. It’s just - there are so many kids in the village, and it was hard enough wrangling them with two people. God only knows how she’s managing now. There’s Miremba, too, and Mutumbo and Sadaka, and Asmeret holding Kajuga. Gotswana catches his eye. He winks at Kevin, inexplicably, and he has  _ no  _ idea why until Connor hits him round the back of the head. 

“Ow,” says Kevin, because he suffered a head injury yesterday and Connor is just being mean. 

“Stop staring,” says Connor, out of the corner of his mouth. “And actually do something.” 

“Um,” says Kevin, skimming his eyes over the rest of the villagers. The people he has to protect. The people who he has to help save themselves. He did it before, he can do it again. Right? “Okay, yeah.”

He pushes Connor down into an empty chair and forces his way through his thick, sludgy reluctance to the altar. A dozen, a hundred thoughts race through his mind - 

Can the General hear them here? Or is it a sacred place, away from prying ears and eyes? Is Elder Price making everything worse, because of the General’s apparent vested interest in him? Is he putting all of these people, these people who loves unconditionally and without remorse, in danger? But they’re already in danger, right? And anyway they’re not even  _ real,  _ Good Lord, at least he thinks they’re not real, but they seem so real, talk like how they should and look the same and there’s no pointy teeth in sight. But maybe bringing them all together, into one secluded, tiny area, was a very, very bad decision. Strength in numbers, sure, but he can’t help but have a terrible, awful feeling about this. And then there’s the issue of the General himself - exactly what can he do? How far do his powers extend? What’s his weakness? Does he have a weakness? Oh, God - 

He catches Connor’s eye, who’s giving him a narrowed look.  _ Go on,  _ he mouths, with an encouraging-if-sarcastic hand movement. He hears Elder McKinley’s voice in his head -  _ the one time you didn’t need to shut up you didn’t say anything at all -  _ and he takes a breath. 

“Um,” says Kevin. “Hi?”

And he used to be so good at this. Proselytising. He was born for it, only now he just feels anxious and sad and tired and afraid and incapable of speaking. 

There’s a murmur of  _ hello  _ and  _ hujambo  _ and Kevin looks down at the faces of almost everybody he loves in the whole world, who he would kill for, who he would probably - and may actually, imminently - die for, and opens his mouth. 

“So we have a problem,” he says. “I don’t think I need to tell you what it is.”

There’s a hushed agreement; Kalimba nodding her head emphatically, Sadakka saying something to Asmeret, and Kajuga making a gargled noise of agreement. There’s an empty chair next to Sadakka that makes Kevin feel like somebody is squeezing all of the blood out of his heart, making him run cold. Nabulungi may be dead for all he knows.  _ Not real not real not real not real.  _

“I don’t think,” says Kevin. “That we should live like this. I think it’s time we did something about it.” 

“But,” says Mutumbo, but Kevin holds up his hand. 

“I know, I know,” says Kevin. “He’s terrifying, what with the magic, and the red eyes and everything. But there’s more of us than there are of him.”

“If he finds out,” says Kimbay. “We are all dead.” 

“I know,” says Kevin. “But isn’t it worth a shot? Do you want to live your lives not knowing who’s next?” 

“We have to protect the children,” says Kimbay, slowly, like she’s really thinking about it. She smiles a real smile, a conspiratorial one that Kevin is more than accustomed to. He smiles back on instinct. “We can always shelter them in here. I’ll stay with them, with Miremba and Ghali.” 

“Good idea,” says Kevin. 

“I don’t like this,” says Mafala, from where he’s stood with him arms crossed at the back of the room. “Things have not been great, but we are surviving. That is all we can ask for.”

“But you can ask for  _ more, _ ” says Kevin. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You can be free from him. I’ve seen it -”

Kevin stops himself abruptly, because Connor is making slicing-his-throat motions with his hand and giving him a death glare. 

“We need a plan,” says Kevin, feeling determined and stubborn. They’re going to end this and they’re going to end it  _ today.  _ “Tell me what you know.” 

“He likes to fight,” says Mutumbo. “But he likes playing mind games more. Making you see things that aren’t there, hear voices, that kind of thing.” 

Kevin wrinkles his nose. 

“Great,” says Kevin. “Anything else?”

“Well,” says Kimbay. “You know he’s particularly interested in you, Elder Price.”

“I gathered,” says Kevin, swallowing a lump in his throat and not looking at Connor because if he looks at Connor he’s gonna freak out. “But what kind of magic does he use? Fire magic?” 

“More just causing pain,” says Asmeret, shushing Kajuga and bouncing her on her knee. “Torturing spells.” 

“You should already know this,” says Mafala. His face is too far away to make out but he certainly sounds suspicious. “Considering you’re on the receiving end a lot.” 

Kevin is going to freak out, oh God, he’s going to freak out  _ any second now  _ but then Connor, beautiful, blessed Elder McKinley, stands up abruptly, the metal chair making an awful screeching noise on the hard stone floor. 

“As you can see, Elder Price got into some trouble,” he says. “What with the - you know, with the face? And he hit his head a little too hard, I think.” 

“Right,” says Kevin. “Just want to make sure I’ve got all the facts.”

“Well,” says Mafala, moving forward authoritatively. Kevin can feel himself shrinking. “I do not like that you are trying to make decisions on our behalf. Where is Prophet Cunningham?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin answers, as honestly as he can. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” 

Connor’s eyebrows say,  _ this is not the time to be self deprecating.  _ Kevin’s eyebrows shoot back,  _ shut up, asshole.  _

“Think about Nabulungi,” he says. It’s his last card, and it works. There’s a movement in the crowd, a hushed murmur of entangled voices, and Kevin stands there and waits helplessly.

“Just how strong is he?” says Connor. “Can he take everybody at once?” 

“I don’t know,” says Mafala. “I tried - when Naba - when he took my  _ binti mzuri _ -”

“Shh,” says Kalimba, and puts her hand on his arm soothingly. “It is okay. The Elders are here to help. That is why they came here, after all.” 

Kevin wants to dig a hole in the ground, crawl in it and die there. 

He feels very exposed, right now, despite sweltering in his suit jacket, stood at the altar in front of everybody, because he’s supposed to have a  _ plan,  _ but the problem is that Kevin is used to following other people’s plans and hasn’t got a huge amount of experience actually doing the planning. He feels like he’s been rubbed raw - well, he kind of  _ has,  _ considering two days ago he was forcefully dragged down a staircase and he left a lot of skin behind on Connor’s not-childhood-home’s carpet - and he feels like he’s laid bare in front of these people; these people who aren’t even real, who have a power over Kevin that he’s a little afraid of. If they said jump, and he thought it might help people, he would try and beat his previous record and jump higher than ever before. He’s like this. Dangerously devoted to the things, the people who he believes in, to the point of stupidity. Case in point? Elder McKinley, who is - 

“Okay,” he says, clasping his hands together in that  _ way.  _ “Kimbay, stay here with the kids who are here already. Ghali, Miremba, go get the rest. Mutumbo, find Ochen, why isn’t he here? And grab Akello and Nakisisa if you see them. Rally all the guys you can, tell them what’s going on. You guys can stay at the front of the village square, by Kimbay’s hut. Kalimba, Sadakka - he’s particularly vicious with the girls, so be careful. I’m not stupid enough to tell you to stay away, and we need all the help we can get, so try to grab any weapon you can.” 

“But how can we fight magic with simple tools?”

“We can’t,” says Connor. “But we can threaten him.” 

“But that will only anger him!”

“No, no, Kalimba,” says Mafala. “I think we are distracting him. Right?”

“Kind of,” says Connor. “We mostly need you for backup, in case anything goes wrong.”

“And we need to show a united front,” says Kevin. “The more of us the better.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Me?” says Connor. “I am going to babysit Elder Price.”

“And what will Elder Price be doing?” says Kevin, who wants to kiss Connor on the mouth because Connor has more than two brain cells and clearly, blessedly, has something up his sleeve. Kevin is more than a little desperate to be told what to do. 

Connor smiles grimly. 

“Bait,” he says, and shrugs apologetically. Okay, maybe Kevin doesn’t want to be told what to do. 

“Oh good,” says Kevin, instead of,  _ if I die because of your stupid plan I will come back as a zombie and kill you myself.  _ “Mafala?” 

“With me,” says Connor. “We’re going to steal his wands.” 

“You’re going to  _ what? _ ” 

“That is a very good idea,” says Mafala, fingers tapping on his chin. “Very dangerous. But for Nabulungi I will do it. My  _ malaika  _ deserves better.” 

“I can’t think of anything else,” says Connor, splaying his hands out. “It’s all I’ve got.” 

Okay. Okay, Kevin can do this. He can  _ totally  _ be bait. He’ll be great bait! He’ll be the best bait in the whole damned world, just wait and see. 

But Connor - 

“What you’re doing is crazy dangerous,” he says, looking straight at him, the rest of the world melting away for three, four seconds. “And it’s my fault.”

“I know,” says Connor. “That’s why you’re the bait.”

He smiles a little half smile, one that reaches his eyes, and Kevin feels a little bit stupid staring at him but he can’t  _ help  _ it, not when he’s looking at him like that. 

“Elders?”

“Right,” says Kevin, shaking his head and averting his eyes. “Okay. So. Gotswana, you need to stay safe so you can help others. No fighting for you. Everyone else should make a circle around the square - right?” says Kevin, looking at Connor for confirmation. “And I’ll be in the middle, of course. Connor can be on one side of Mutumbo’s, Mafala, you be by the school.” 

“Are the other Elders not going to help?”

“They’re - indisposed,” says Connor. “We’re all we’ve got.” 

“It sounds like an okay plan,” says Mafala. “Okay, we should go about our daily business. The General makes rounds just after noon. We can strike then.”

“Cool,” says Kevin, and starts ushering people out of the door. “This was just normal church, okay guys?” 

Connor lingers at the back, so Kevin hovers, too. He waves Mafala off and shuts the door behind him. 

“So,” says Connor, looking oddly out of place to say he’s standing in a building he built. 

“So,” says Kevin. “Bait? Really?”

Connor grins that crooked grin, hands behind his back. 

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be,” says Kevin. “I’m sorry you’re fighting him for me.”

“Kevin,” says Connor, cocking his head and sighing. “You do realise that I might actually give a shit about the people I lived with for two and a half years?” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. “I guess that’s a good point.”

“You are hilariously self involved,” says Connor, and then he starts laughing. Kevin wrinkles his nose. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Deja vu,” says Connor. “We’ve had this argument before. In this church. Literally right here. Do you think it means anything?”

“I think it means we’re both idiots,” says Kevin. 

“Takes one to know one,” says Connor, and shrugs. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” says Kevin. “Wanna sit?” 

“Okay,” says Connor, and Kevin takes a seat next to him so their upper arms are touching. They sit quietly together, facing forward, and Kevin runs through his breathing exercises. 

“Two, three, four,” Connor counts his out breaths for him, muttering the numbers indistinctly, like he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Kevin’s heart swells, but the feeling is fleeting and then he feels nothing but exhaustion and dread. 

“Thanks,” he says, after a while, turning to look at him. Connor blinks once, twice, looking right back at him.

“Whatever for?”

“A lot of things,” says Kevin. “I don’t know.”

“You’re so weird,” says Connor. “I fucked you over, and you’re thanking me?”

“Connor McKinley, are you actually admitting you did something  _ wrong? _ ”

“Fuck off, Kevin. I did the right thing. It’s the only way.” 

“There’s always options,” says Kevin. 

“You just don’t wanna be bait.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“I know,” says Connor, in possibly the softest voice he’s ever heard from him. He moves slowly, cautiously, and settles his head on Kevin’s shoulder. “I hate this.”

“I do too,” says Kevin. “This really sucks. I hate just sitting around like this. It feels like I’m waiting for a death sentence.”

“That’s far too morbid,” says Connor. “Tell me your favourite memory from Uganda.” 

Kevin blinks, because, what?

“What?”

“This is too depressing,” he says. “And I want to die thinking about something nice.” 

It’s such a stupid question. Kevin can’t just pick out a memory like that; like he has them all in a flipbook that he flicks through every now and then. It’s all blurred together into one big thing; memories merged with memories, no day distinct, preserved in time somewhere he can’t go back to. Only now he has. He thinks about the hedgerow covered sky and snow globes. 

“Nabulungi’s twenty-third birthday party,” says Kevin. “Just - the whole night.”

“That’s a good one,” says Connor. “Was that when you bought her the dress? She wore that for weeks, it was gross.”

“I know,” says Kevin, catching himself smiling. “That was when she pushed Sadakka into the lake, and when Arnold tried to very seriously tell me he was in love with me. I think Michaels dared him, I’m not sure what was going on there. I think Neeley and Davis kissed? I don’t remember, I was so drunk. And then you threw up on my shoes.” 

“Oh, I did do that,” says Connor. “Well, it served you right for only getting that shitty beer.” 

“You gave me a piggyback,” says Kevin. “I thought you were going to snap in half.” 

“I know,” says Connor. “You said the only thing keeping me upright was the stick in my ass.” 

There was more that night, too, more Kevin won’t say but Connor is thinking, he knows he is, can see it in the way Connor’s eyes flicker from his left to his right, like he’s searching for something. 

They sat round the back of the hut sharing a beer away from prying eyes. Kevin was laughing like an idiot, and Connor tried to shush him, but then Kevin just spilled beer everywhere, and then Kevin just seemed to kind of give up and fall forwards, pressing their foreheads together, his hands gripping his shoulders. It only lasted a second, two seconds, but it  _ happened  _ and it meant something. 

And Connor said - 

“Elder Price,” in a breathless way, in a way he had never before and has never since said his name. 

And Kevin said, “Connor McKinley,” and grinned until he thought his cheeks were gonna split open. And then Connor threw up on his shoes. 

Kevin isn’t going to bring it up, but he can taste that shitty beer on the back of his tongue. 

“That might be my favourite, too,” says Connor. “But there was one night, with the thunderstorm -” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. “I’d forgotten about that.” 

Kevin had hidden under the kitchen table, not because he’s a coward but because he was  _ very brave  _ and keeping watch on the door. He wasn’t quite sure what he was watching for, but he knew it was very important. He’s not there because he’s scared of a little weather. 

“Scared of a little weather?” said Connor, appearing under the table, down on his haunches. Kevin pried his hands off his ears and looked at his grinning face. “I brought a deck of cards. Wanna play rummy?” 

“Yeah, okay,” said Kevin, and then jumped out of his skin at the next clap of thunder. Connor didn’t laugh outright, but a smirk did light up his whole face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“So much,” said Connor, with an impish grin. “It’s like Christmas come early.” 

“Rude,” said Kevin, and yanked Connor under the table by his wrist. “Keep me company.” 

“So demanding,” said Connor. “Did your mother ever teach you how to say please?” 

“I had a little bell and a maid would come running,” Kevin explained. Connor stared him for a moment, before hitting him in the chest with the back of his hand. 

“You mean you coerced your little sisters in doing stuff for you,” said Connor. 

“Oh, no, they had me wrapped around their tiny fingers,” said Kevin. Another clap of thunder, another comically large flinch. Connor put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know how to say please, I just don’t like you.”

“A terrible liar,” said Connor. “You love me.”

And Kevin had given him a funny look, and the moment was too intense and too much and his lungs ached and his heart burned with everything he was keeping inside it. 

“You get the eight,” said Kevin, and dealt the cards. 

“That’s a nice memory,” Kevin agrees. “We didn’t sleep at all. And I didn’t even notice the storm stopping, we were --”

Probably best to stop himself there. From the look on Connor’s face, he assumes he agrees. 

“I miss Nabulungi so much it’s physically painful,” he says instead. “I don’t want to live my life without her in it.” 

Connor burrows his head further into Kevin’s neck and puts his arm around his back. It’s a nice gesture, one he didn’t really think Connor would ever offer again. 

“That’s one of the most depressing things you’ve ever said.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin. “That’s kind of the point.” 

“You’ll learn to move on,” says Connor. “Eventually. People - people come and go, and then there’ll be new people. And it’s not like you’re replacing them, or anything, you’re just growing, adding more people to your life. And it’s like - as long as you don’t forget them, or what they meant to you, you’ll be fine.”

“Are you talking about me?”

Connor huffs out a laugh. Kevin can feel his hot breath on his neck. It’s surprisingly unpleasant, but he’s not going to move Connor any time soon. He’s about to march to his death at the hands of the General - presuming he  _ can  _ die here - and he’ll take whatever comfort he can get. Better to concentrate on the way Connor’s hair is tickling the underside of his chin than think about being bait. 

“No, actually,” he says. “I was talking about Steve.” 

Kevin hums to himself, and dares to put his hand on Connor’s knee for just a second and squeezes. He removes it before Connor can freak out on him, before Connor can get awkward and riled up and push him away. 

“It’s not like I want you to have to do this,” says Connor, after a pause. “I’m not - I don’t want you to think I’m punishing you, somehow.” 

“Yeah, I know,” says Kevin. “But you had to face your demons, right? I have to face mine.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, the sigh evident in his voice. “You can totally do this. You’ve done worse, right?”

“Right,” says Kevin, even though he absolutely hasn’t. Sure, what happened with the General was bad - terrible, really, truly awful and harrowing and life-altering - but everybody here might die because of him and also, you know. Magic and probably death. 

Connor lifts his head up to look at him and Kevin’s breath hitches in his throat when they make eye contact. Connor leans forward, ever so slightly, so slight you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking for it, and he puts his thumb under his eye, trails his fingers down Kevin’s sandpaper skin, right down to the cut in his lip. It stings when Connor touches it, and the sensation grounds him, stops him from pulling Connor towards him by his tie and kissing him. 

“You’re sending very mixed signals,” says Kevin, Connor’s thumb brushing his lips as his mouth moves. Connor doesn’t say anything, just smirks and drops his hands. 

“It’s almost time, I think,” says Connor. “We’ve been here a while. We should head out.” 

Kevin’s stomach lurches. He thinks he might throw up, only he hasn’t eaten since the wedding. 

“Yeah, okay,” says Kevin, and lets Connor pull him up by his wrist. His fingers stay there one, two seconds too long, squeezing slightly. “You go find Mafala. I’ll - go into the square and hope for the best.” 

Connor nods, and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. But his face falls and his mouth closes, and he turns and stalks off without a word. He never was very good at goodbyes. 

Kevin walks down the hill in silence, trapped in his own head. He can do this. He can  _ totally  _ do this. He can do anything, right? Anything he sets his mind to. 

He’s nearing the centre of the village and tries not to notice the dozen prying eyes on him. He can see Sadakka holding a frying pan. Good Lord, what has happened here? What has it been like for them, living under the General’s thumb? 

Not real, not real, not - 

He has to remind himself over and over. Whatever happens right now, it’s not even real. These people aren’t real, however they act and seem and speak. They’re figments of his imagination. If he loses, it’s okay. 

But God, isn’t he such a sore loser? 

“Elder Price,” says that awful, horrible, grating voice. He turns around and sees the General walking down the hill, straight at him. He wonders how long he’s been followed. “What are you doing?”

“Walking?”

“I see,” says the General, frowning around the eyepatch. He’s clutching his wand in his belt, like he’s ready to use it at any moment. Kevin tries to not let his eyes flicker up to check on everybody around him, make sure they’re in their positions, make sure that Connor is around. 

“Why? Do you have a problem with that?”

Antagonise him, he has to antagonise him, draw him closer to the centre of the square. 

“I like to keep an eye on you,” says the General. “The pretty boy is a threat to our village.” 

“Right,” says Kevin, and turns to walk away. He knows he shouldn’t turn his back on him, but he’s not exactly going to walk the rest of the way down the hill backwards just to keep an eye out. Besides, he knows how annoying it is for somebody to simply turn away from you when you’re having a conversation. “I’m the threat.” 

“You and your Elders,” says the General, sounding mild, which is much more terrifying than when he’s yelling. “You come in here and disrupt the peace with your made up stories. You are leading them astray, and I can’t have that.” 

“Whatever you say,” says Kevin, finally approaching the centre of the square. He takes a deep breath, turns around, and says -- 

“Hey, ugly? Go fuck yourself.” 

He’s hit by a wave of pain before he’s even finished speaking, right down in his core, making him double over and fall to the floor. It’s intense, blinding, and it’s all Kevin can do to close his eyes and try to breathe around the horrible gnawing pain in his stomach and behind his ribs and in his eyeballs. 

The pain stops abruptly, and when he looks up, Nabulungi is there, crouched over him, hand in his hair. He can  _ feel  _ it. 

“Hey, Kevin,” she says, and it even sounds like her. Why is she here? He thought she’d be taken, he thought he’d never see her again, and he’s oh,  _ oh,  _ he’s crying. “You should probably let him kill you.” 

Kevin opens his mouth to speak but there’s no words, nothing to say. He’s pictured this a thousand times over, seeing Nabulungi again, imagined what he would say to her and how her face would be overwhelmed by her smile, how he would hug her and hold her and never let her go. 

“Like he killed me,” she says.  _ Not real not real not real.  _

“You aren’t real,” he croaks. Speaking feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. 

He’s crushed by pain again, and can hear people shouting, and commotion, and a smacking sound, and then an otherworldly roar. It’s all he can do to grip Nabulungi’s arm and look at her, look at nothing but her. There’s a rushing in his ears that’s impossible to ignore. 

“If you don’t let him kill you now,” she whispers in his ear, down on her elbows in the dirt. “He will use you like a plaything.” 

Kevin struggles to keep his eyes open. 

“I miss you so much,” he manages to say, and reaches out to touch her face, and God she feels so  _ real.  _ Then he pushes her as hard as he can and moves to stand up. He’s shaken and winded but he has legs and he can use them, and he refuses to be defeated so easily. 

When the world is the right way up again, he looks down and Nabulungi is gone. He looks up and sees Connor in the General’s grip, his hands around his throat, two wands clutched in Connor’s hand, another in Mafala’s, and beautiful, brave Sadakka sneaking up behind him. She smacks him round the back of the head with the frying pan and he drops Connor. Kevin runs over to him, but he’s blown back with a gust of wind and stumbles to keep himself upright. 

“I will destroy you,” the General tells Kevin, calmly. 

It’s all Kevin can do to stay upright and blink at him, stupidly. He can see Connor scramble away as fast as he can, and Kevin starts to sidle closer to him. He needs to distract the General more so they can get the last wand. 

“I defeated you before,” says Kevin. “In the real world. You know you’re just a figment of my imagination, right?” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” the General seethes at him. Sadakka is on the ground writhing in pain and Kevin can only look on, horrified. “Pretty boy.” 

“Stop calling me that,” says Kevin, in his most impatient tone. “I scared you. You ran away like a little girl.”

Kevin’s insides twist so violently he’s genuinely concerned the General has done something to his organs. 

“I will destroy every last one of you,” says the General, and suddenly he’s growing double his size. Kevin swallows, gazing up at him. God, there’s nothing they can do. 

Connor is by his side in an instant, and he whispers out of the corner of his mouth:  _ run.  _

So Kevin runs. He’s knocked out again with a wave of pain, but Connor drags him along anyway as Kevin whimpers. He runs and runs and closes his eyes and lets Connor lead the way. 

And then pain is over, as if it never happened at all, and they’re back on the path. He’s never been so glad to see dirt and gravel. 

Kevin is too afraid to look behind him but he does it anyway. The General’s eyes are huge and red and his mouth is snarling and Kevin is so tired and so hurt and a thousand other things he doesn’t have words for that he can barely find it in himself to be scared. He knows Connor is, though, and that means Kevin has to man up. He turns back to face the path, focusing on the feeling of Connor’s hand wrapped around his forearm so tightly he thinks his hand might fall off instead of the feeling of the General’s piercing eyes on his back. 

There’s a dull thud, and a loud, angry noise, and then another, larger thud. Connor stops before Kevin does.

“Kevin,” says Connor. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“Keep  _ going _ ,” Kevin urges. Connor shakes his head, and points with his spare hand behind him. Kevin turns to see the inhumanly tall General is banging his fists on thin air a few dozen feet behind them. He’s yelling something incoherently, and Kevin is glad he can’t make out individual words. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, breathing heavily through his nose as his shoulders heave. His hand is still clutching Kevin’s forearm. “They’re trapped. He’s trapped.”

“We can’t just leave them in there with  _ him  _ -”

Connor shushes him, and rubs his thumb on the skin of Kevin’s arm. 

“It’s not real,” says Connor. “Remember? It’s not real.”

“It hurt so much” says Kevin, and he wants to glare at him but he can’t stop staring at the General’s face, trapped behind an invisible forcefield that lights up under his banging fists. “Don’t tell me that’s not real.”

“You’re real,” says Connor, moving his hand from Kevin’s arm to his chin, forcing him to look at him. “They’re not.” 

“You don’t know that,” says Kevin. 

“I do,” says Connor. “I really, really do.” 

Kevin looks into Connor’s stupid, ridiculous blue eyes and sees nothing but concern. It’s been a very long time since Connor looked at him like that. 

“Let’s move,” says Kevin, and Connor drops his face. “I don’t want to - I can still hear him, hear them, and I can’t -” 

“Stop panicking,” says Connor, and starts walking forward again. “We’re safe now. Come on, let’s get away from them. You’ll feel better.”

Kevin follows Connor sullenly, glaring at the back of his head. He feels like he’s about to throw up or cry or both. Neither of those options sound very appealing. 

“I need to stop,” says Kevin, after a while. “I don’t want to have a panic attack. Please stop.” 

Connor, thankfully, listens to him. For once. He spins around on his heels and pushes Kevin down to sit on the ground with a hand on his shoulder. 

“You can’t save everyone,” says Connor, slowly, watching Kevin with wary eyes. Kevin is wound up and his shoulders are tense and he feels like he’s about to explode, getting his sticky emotions all over Connor so he has to deal with them instead. 

“Yes I can,” says Kevin. “Elder Price can do anything.”

“But you’re not Elder Price anymore,” says Connor, in a soft voice with softer eyes. “You’re Kevin.” 

Kevin can’t even bring himself to scowl at him. He’s right, and Kevin hates being wrong. Where does Connor get off, telling Kevin who he is and who he shouldn’t be? Kevin just wishes he didn’t have to relive that memory, of all memories. He’d much rather take a leaf out of Connor’s creepy storybook and have to deal with his childhood demons than the General. It’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair that Kevin’s subconscious has decided to torture him about the General all over again. He spent a long time getting over it. And it takes Kevin a really long time to get over anything - just look at Connor. 

“I know,” says Kevin, feeling his breathing calming down into a more stable rhythm. “I know that. I do. It’s just - it’s not fair.” 

“Kevin,” says Connor. “You didn’t hear it from me, but you’re a good person. I think you’re a good person.”

Connor is wrong. His opinion is subjective. 

“You’re biased,” says Kevin. “Because of - you know.” 

“Kevin,” Connor sighs. “I wouldn’t have liked you in the first place if you were a bad person. But you’re not. You’re a good person.”    
  
“A lot of people would say otherwise.”

“A lot of people are stupid,” says Connor. “I’m sorry. About the General. I’m sorry that he did something to you.” 

Kevin shrugs. 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says. 

“Kevin,” says Connor, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Connor only does that when he really wants Kevin to know he’s exasperated with him. “You lost your faith.”

“There were a lot of reasons for that,” says Kevin. “One of them was you.” 

“Oh,” says Connor. 

“Yeah,” says Kevin. 

They lapse back into silence after that. He wants to know what Connor is thinking about, but he doesn’t dare ask. His mouth feels like it’s full of words he’s not allowed to say and he has to swallow them back down.

The back of Connor’s hand brushes the back of Kevin’s. He knows he’s probably doing it on purpose, because that’s exactly the kind of thing Connor would do. But that knowledge doesn’t stop Kevin from sliding his fingers into his anyway. Connor pretends like he doesn’t notice, but after a while, he squeezes Kevin’s hand. Kevin squeezes back. 

“It sucks,” says Connor. “That you had to deal with all that stuff again.” 

“It was my turn,” says Kevin, moving to shrug but giving up before he gets there.

“I suppose,” says Connor, slowly. His hand is still in Kevin’s. Kevin can feel his heart thumping against his ribs. “That seemed - well, it seemed a lot more traumatic than mine were.” 

Kevin doesn’t really know what to say. He continues walking, silently. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet,” says Connor. “You hate silence.”

“It’s been a long day,” says Kevin, even though it’s probably only mid-afternoon. Who can tell. 

“I lied,” says Connor. Kevin’s mind flicks through a reel of conversations and memories, trying to figure out where the lie was. Connor always was good at it. Better than Arnold, some days. Arnold just has an overactive imagination. Connor has secrets. There’s a huge difference between the two, and that difference is shaped a lot like  _ I have feelings for you and I hate it and I hate you for it, too. _ “I do want to see you again. Afterwards.”

“Oh,” says Kevin. Of all the lies that Connor may have told him, that one he wasn’t expecting. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “I can’t exactly live with the knowledge that magic exists and be haunted by various demons and unbelievable traumatic experiences all on my own.”

“We have bonded,” says Kevin, happily, feeling familiar positivity stirring inside his chest and turning the corners of his mouth upwards. This is the best news he’s heard all day. Granted, that’s not exactly a feat after the day he’s been having, but this is  _ progress _ . “We could be friends. If you wanted.”

“Maybe,” says Connor. “I don’t know. This world is confusing. You’re confusing.”

“I’m confusing?” snaps Kevin, surprised, because deep down in his core he is a very simple person who Connor has always had no problem figuring out, even when Kevin doesn’t have the words himself. “You’re the hot and cold one.”

“Your temperament will be your undoing,” says Connor, as if he’s saying something wise and all-knowing in that high horse kind of way he gets when talking down to Kevin. 

“You’re a jerk,” says Kevin.

“And yet, you still want to be friends.”

“I do,” says Kevin. “You used to call me a masochist all the time.”

“That’s because you are a masochist,” Connor says. He smiles, and Kevin’s heart actually flutters, medically speaking. He’s sure of it. Stupid Connor. Stupid Kevin, really, for not even trying to move on properly. “You’re attracted to people who don’t like you.”

Kevin shrugs. 

“And you push away everybody who does like you,” says Kevin. “What’s up with that?”

“Fuck off,” says Connor, but he sounds kind of happy about it. They really do have the strangest relationship. Not that Kevin minds. Maybe it was the visit to Kitguli, but it’s starting to feel a little bit like old times. 

“Never,” says Kevin, grinning without being quite sure why. Connor smiles back, but it’s smaller, quieter, and his eyes are contemplative. 

“You did good today,” he says, after a while of studying his face - so long that Connor trips over his own feet - and elbows Kevin in the side. 

“Not really,” says Kevin. “I could have -”

“No, you couldn’t,” Elder McKinley interrupts him. “You’re going to start to annoy me soon with that attitude, you know.” 

“I already annoy you with my attitude,” says Kevin. “All the time.”

“Only half of the time, really,” Connor says. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to be nice to you today. It’s called not being a dick to your traumatised - whatever.” 

“Appreciated,” says Kevin. “What do you think is in store next?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Connor. “Something vaguely symbolic and incredibly mean spirited.”

“Maybe Arnold,” says Kevin, hopefully, trying to shake off the memories of Sadakka writhing on the floor. “Something nice, for a change.” 

“Arnold might try to eat you,” says Connor.

“He’s Arnold,” says Kevin, as if that’s enough of a reason. 

“He could be the Devil himself shapeshifted in the form of Arnold.”

_ “The devil is the father of all lies,”  _ Kevin recites. Connor snorts. 

“No wonder your mother hated Arnold so much.”

“A true sinner,” says Kevin, and suddenly misses Arnold so much he feels like his heart is breaking in two. 

Something meows, and Kevin looks down and sees Naba, somehow suddenly there between his legs. 

“Your cat is back,” says Connor. 

“Thank you,” says Kevin. “I do have eyes, you know.” 

He picks her up and she meows noisily, before shoving her face into Kevin’s arms and seemingly falling asleep. She looks how Kevin feels. 

“Hasn’t today been horrible, Naba?” says Kevin, scratching her between the eyes with one finger. “We’ve had to fight a wizard and everything. You missed all the fun.”

He’s so glad he has somebody to talk to who isn’t Connor. 

“And I’ve had to put up with Elder McKinley bitching at me the whole time,” Kevin continues. “Which has been the true tragedy of the day.”

“Ha ha,” says Connor.

Kevin starts walking again. Connor walks in step with him, occasionally leaning over to scratch Naba’s head. 

The flowers, still changing colour, change species, too; there are more and more roses, until the entire hedge is filled with them, from traditional yellows and pinks to blues and oranges and deep, rich purples. It reminds Kevin of a tunnel of love so violently he almost trips over his own feet out of sheer awkwardness. Naba, disgruntled, jumps out of Kevin’s arms and walks in between Connor’s legs, rubbing her head on his feet and purring. 

“Does she always do this?”

“With people she likes,” says Kevin. 

“She’s making it incredibly difficult to walk.”

“So hold her,” says Kevin. “She just wants your attention.”

“I’m not very good with - that.”

“No kidding,” says Kevin. 

He can’t stop replaying the memories over and over again, every detail from this morning, everything he could have done differently but didn’t. 

“Next time,” says Kevin. “Whatever happens next, whatever comes after us, I’m gonna kick its ass.” 

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” says Connor, with a smile that’s nicer than any smile Connor has given him so far. 

He holds Naba as close to his chest as possible, and thinks about the real Naba, the real Nabulungi, and hopes that this dream isn’t prophetic. 


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're over halfway through now! Hooray!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the sporadic updates, but I finished writing this chapter in December and after sitting on it for six months I'm desperate to post it. This fic is my number one priority at the moment so expect more regular updates! 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for the love and encouragement so far; there's no way I would have been able to write the longest thing I've ever written without your support <3

Kevin doesn’t sleep well that night. 

This probably shouldn’t be such a surprise. It’s just that he’s, weirdly, been sleeping better here than he has in months. Easier to sleep when you’re not dreaming, especially not dreaming about banging his fists on a handle-less door until his hands are battered and bruised; fresh purple swelling over mottled yellow. But, as it turns out, it’s  _ much  _ harder to sleep when you’ve spent the day trying to fight demons from your past and failing miserably. 

He watches the outline of Connor, rising and falling with his breaths, silhouetted in the dark, a sight for his sore black eye. He wonders when he started sleeping better than Kevin does. It was still in Uganda, he thinks, even before the door dreams. Connor said he had years worth of sleep to catch up on; Kevin, on the other hand, has too much swirling inside his neurotic brain ever since the Arnold Incident, far too many thoughts tangled and entwined with each other that haunt him in the dark to sleep soundly. 

He wants a drink. He wants coffee. He wants Arnold; he wants his bed. He wants a lot of things. But like Connor said - he doesn’t have a great track record of getting what he wants. So he lays awake instead, picturing every face he saw that day, Nabulungi hovering over him, thinks about the smooth way her voice had said  _ like he killed me.  _ He plays out every scenario in his head, about what’s happening in alternate-Kitguli right now, now they’ve angered the General and left the villagers to clean up his mess. They might even all be dead. They might be being tortured, and  _ God,  _ he just cannot stop reliving the memory of helplessly watching Sadakka writhe on the floor in pain. 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Connor mumbles, his whisper deafening in the dark. 

“Sorry,” Kevin says back. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t,” says Connor. “Naba keeps digging her claws into my stomach.” 

“She does that,” says Kevin, and manages to smile a half a smile to himself. “Do you think they’re okay?”

“I think they’re not real,” says Connor. “And I think you should stop thinking about it.” 

“Yeah,” Kevin agrees. If only it were that easy. “But when did  _ turning it off  _ work for anybody.”

Connor snorts, sounding sleepy. Kevin wants to crawl over to him and force Connor to put his arms around him, wants him to hold everything inside of Kevin that’s about to burst and spill out all over the gravel path. 

“Go to sleep, Elder Price,” says Connor. “Think about something nice.” 

Kevin tries, but every memory turns into picturing each and every one of his friends getting tortured by the General right now. 

“Don’t think about Uganda, though,” says Connor, as if he’s reading his mind. “Think about like, Arnold and the cat or something.” 

An image comes to Kevin’s mind out of nowhere; his friend Amy at work wordlessly making him a coffee when he was having a bad day, spreadsheets coming out of his ears, the seconds ticking by sounding like a Doomsday Clock. It’s not a life altering memory. It’s not something he’s going to be thinking about wistfully for the rest of his life; he feels no pangs of nostalgia. Amy is nice. She has lovely long red hair, darker than Connor’s and dyed. She has tattoos and an eyebrow piercing and wears polka dots every day. Kevin’s mother would hate her. He’s looking forward to seeing her again. It calms him down. He doesn’t expect it, but it’s nice, to fall asleep thinking about how the vending machine in his office never works, instead of thinking about summer heat and fireflies and laughter he’ll never hear again. 

He wakes with a start. Connor is already up, sat cross-legged with an awkward Naba sprawling across his lap, contorted into a funny shape to fit on his legs in that way only cats can do. 

“Morning,” says Connor, sounding oddly refreshed. His hair is sticking up stupidly and he looks tired and like he needed a shower two days ago. He feels his mouth go dry when Connor cocks his head and smiles at him. “Did you sleep alright, in the end?”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, sitting up and trying to wipe the last dregs of sleep out of his eyes with his jacket sleeve. “Yeah, I feel better.”

“Good,” says Connor, and then stands up decisively. “No use thinking about it. Today is a latter day.” 

Kevin makes an attempt at a smile, just for Connor, so he doesn’t press how Kevin still feels like shit and still can’t stop thinking about how he held Nabulungi’s face in his hands not twenty-four hours ago. 

He holds out his hand for Kevin, pulls him up, and holds on a little too long to be considered entirely friendly. 

Naba trots on ahead of them as they walk, her large body swinging side to side in a comical fashion that weirdly cheers him up to watch. 

“Do you ever walk her?” says Connor. “Like, on a leash?”

“Arnold did, once,” says Kevin. “But she scared all the dogs she walked past.”

“I’ll bet,” says Connor, watching Naba trot ahead of them, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I see why you named her after Nabulungi.” 

“They’re both equally terrifying and adorable,” says Kevin. “I know.”

Connor is quiet for a while, and Kevin follows suit. He thinks about Nabulungi, thinks about how he saw her yesterday, and considers praying that she’s okay. He doesn’t, though. He hasn’t yet. He’s wished on every star he’s seen instead, every eyelash, even his birthday candles. Maybe if he thinks about her hard enough, she’ll appear in their apartment one day and then she and Arnold can be together forever and get married and have little babies and she can throw her arms around Kevin and bounce up and down on the balls of her feet when she gets excited in that way that she does. It’s not completely outside the realm of possibility. Kevin did manifest this place, after all. And he’s starting to feel like he obsessively thought about Connor so much that he accidentally willed him into existence, too. 

“I took up running,” says Kevin, even though he knows Connor couldn’t care less about what he got up to in America. “Maybe you should, too, then we can just sprint down the path and be home tomorrow.” 

Connor wrinkles his nose in that way he does. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever run a day in my life,” he says. “I used to skip gym.” 

“Terrible,” says Kevin. “What would your mother think?” 

Connor hits him, lightly, in the arm. It feels companionable. It feels nice. Something about the alternate-Kitguli incident has broken some tension. They’re really in it together, now, and the universe is not showing any signs of slowing the fuck down, so they might as well ride this wave together. Even if the wave is part of some kind of tropical, unrelenting storm that is out to murder them at any given moment. 

Kevin is getting used to the silence, and it’s getting a little more comfortable to just be quiet instead of feeling the incessant need to bother Connor at every opportunity. That is, until it’s  _ not  _ silent anymore, because something is whispering, somewhere, the sound crawling down the back of Kevin’s neck and giving him goosebumps. Connor doesn’t say anything about it, so Kevin doesn’t, either, partly because he thinks Connor is ignoring them on purpose, but mostly because he’s frightened that Connor can’t hear the whispers, too. 

He just can’t make out what they’re saying. He can’t even tell if it’s one voice or two or a hundred; just faint, rushing sounds, softly spoken. They don’t sound threatening. He wonders if maybe there’s people watching them, having hushed conversations as if they’re a reality show to argue over. Maybe it’s not  _ people  _ watching them at all. Somebody designed this place, and Kevin isn’t sure if he really did make it up or if he’s giving himself too much credit. Again. 

He knows he probably won’t get answers to his questions anytime soon. Kevin used to be great at not questioning things he knows won’t be answered. He can take himself back there, maybe. Pre-Arnold Elder Price, who never flew off the handle, kept everything inside, who was fully committed, who held the naive belief that everything would turn out okay. Even post-Arnold, he has a spark of optimism inside of him, utilised that to its full extent to ignore all of the things in Kitguli that kept him up all night, the  _ knowledge  _ that everything will fall into place, one day, if they try hard enough. He just hasn’t really had it in himself to try. The post-Arnold, post-Uganda Kevin just doesn’t have as much energy. He hasn’t really got anything to believe in anymore. Arnold said, when Kevin got spectacularly drunk and cried on Arnold about - well, almost everything, you should believe in  _ yourself _ . It seemed like a great idea at the time. The next morning, however, Kevin threw up three times and laid in bed all day with a headache, hoping he never runs into the girl he drunkenly made out with because he was sad and lonely. The next morning, Kevin hated himself more than he had done for a long time, so Arnold’s well-meaning, if a little patronising, advice was lost on him. 

Then, there, clear as day, there’s an opening up ahead. 

“Oh, no,” says Connor. 

The feeling is mutual. 

There’s a castle; with turrets and a moat and  _ everything _ . It towers over the hedges, imposing on the little bubble of flowers and magic and the illusion of safety they feel on the path. It’s like it’s screaming  _ look at me!  _

“Fuck me,” says Kevin, then immediately regrets it. The scathing response he expects doesn’t come, though.

“Is this one of yours? Some Disney bullshit?”

“That doesn’t look like any fairy tale castle I can think of. Too many spikes. And general sense of impending doom.” 

“Well, Disney movies have villains, don’t they? And I assume a lot of them live in spiky castles.”

“Okay, it’s probably mine,” says Kevin. He wishes it wasn’t so  _ obvious _ , and childish, that Kevin’s subconscious has presented him with such a ridiculous fantasy. So what if Kevin likes stories of heroes and villains and romance and happy endings? What’s wrong with that? He’s sure he’s about to find out - and he’s getting a little bit sick of the world throwing things he believes in back in his face. “Villains. Great.”

“What were you expecting? 

“At least Disney movies have happy endings,” says Kevin. “That’s comforting, I guess.” 

“What’s your favourite Disney movie? Maybe we’re stuck in a nightmare version of that.” 

“Beauty and the Beast,” says Kevin, absently, thinking about how he would do anything to curl up on the couch with Arnold and stuff his face with popcorn and watch the dumb movie in the safety of his own home where he has blankets and a roof over his head and isn’t worried about any impending doom in a universe that seems to be playing one long, traumatic prank on him. 

“Really?” says Connor. “I thought it was Sleeping Beauty.” 

“I like the songs,” says Kevin. “It’s fun. I like fun.”

“My favourite is Treasure Planet,” says Connor. Kevin looks at him in horror. 

“But there’s no singing!”

“That’s  _ why  _ I like it,” says Connor, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t really grow up with Disney like you did. And anyway songs about true love and romance between painfully heterosexual cartoon characters isn’t really my thing.” 

“But true love!” Kevin exclaims. 

“True love is bullshit,” says Connor. 

Kevin feels absolutely scandalised by this revelation. Something hot and achy burns in his chest. 

“It is not,” says Kevin. 

“It is,” says Connor. 

“Is not.”

“Is too,” says Connor, then bumps his shoulder. “Do you reckon there’ll be singing teacups?”

“A man can dream,” says Kevin, then immediately regrets his choice of words. “Or not. Maybe a no-go on the dreaming, actually.” 

“It’s more likely there’ll be a big, hulking beast in there, though.” 

He’s not wrong, and the idea fills Kevin with dread, the icy cold sensation pooling at the bottom his stomach. He really doesn’t want to have to fight another monster. He’s still in pain from the last one. 

“It’s not the Beauty and the Beast castle, though,” says Kevin, cocking his head sideways and studying the turrets for any signs of life in the window. “There’s lights on inside.” 

“The fact that you know that is incredibly worrying,” says Connor. 

“The lights are what’s worrying me. Priorities, McKinley.”

“Right,” says Connor. He sighs. “Do we have to?”

“Well, I have to,” says Kevin. “You’re absolutely coming in with me though. I am not dealing with this by myself.”

“I wasn’t going to just stand out here twiddling my thumbs,” says Connor, glaring at him. “Who do you take me for?”

Kevin has a lot of answers to that question, and none of them are very flattering. His mother always used to say,  _ if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all,  _ but the past few years he’s been doing a lot of not listening to her. 

“The kind of jerk who runs off without a word when they don’t want to deal with something?” 

Connor doesn’t say anything, but his lips are very thin and white. Kevin nudges him forward, his hand splayed on Connor’s back, and pushes until he stumbles. 

“Get off me,” says Connor. “I’m going, Jesus.” 

They cross a little bridge that Kevin is half-convinced is going to break beneath their feet, plunging them into whatever the faint-green imitation of water is below them. It’ll probably burn their whole bodies or mutate them or something. Kevin shudders. 

“There’s no knocker,” says Connor, studying the door, running his fingers over the ornate grooves. He pushes it, and it opens by itself. 

“Wonderful,” says Connor. He turns to Kevin. “Shall we?” 

The castle is dimly lit inside, plush red carpets squishy beneath their feet. There are gas lights and thick, draping curtains surrounding -

“Oh, fuck that,” says Kevin, tugging Connor’s arm. Connor follows his line of sight and his mouth falls open. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Connor. There’s huge portraits that decorate the walls; what look like Kings and Queens, or other various royalty, only they have smooth faces without any eyes or noses or mouths. Hands folded on their lap, dresses neatly placed, and no faces. Kevin feels like screaming or banging his head on the wall or running away, but he doesn’t, because he’s Kevin Price and he can do  _ anything,  _ including ignoring the absolutely terrifying imagery of a faceless monarchy. 

“What on Earth does  _ that _ mean,” says Connor, shaking his head slightly. 

“Missing details,” says Kevin. “It’s missing details again. We don’t actually like, know any royalty or whatever, and this universe isn’t smart enough to come up with things we don’t already know.”

Connor hums, and nods his head, not taking his eyes off the biggest portrait in the hallway, clearly a Queen, with cascading blonde hair and huge rings on her overlapped hands. 

“Please don’t tell me that’s your mother,” says Kevin. Connor snorts. 

“You know what my mother looks like. I know what my mother looks like. Ergo, faceless portrait of my mother would not be missing tiny details like, oh, I don’t know, an entire face?” 

“Right,” says Kevin.

“And this is your one, anyway.”

“Definitely not my mother. We’re a whole family of brown hair,” says Kevin. “Let’s go explore, shall we?” 

They wander down endless corridors; purples and reds and rich, wooden browns, everything looking distinct and heavy. The place oozes extravagance. There are no singing household appliances anywhere to be seen, but so far there’s no beasts, either. It really does look like a Disney castle. Kevin can easily imagine Maleficent living here. It’s imposing and unnerving and so big it would be easier to get lost than it would be to find your way. Kevin wonders if there’s anywhere in the world that really looks like this. It’s like a mixture between the Sleeping Beauty castle and the Haunted House at Disney World. Kevin is just waiting to stumble upon a ballroom full of dancing ghosts. Or for something to pop out at them from around the corner, or something invisible to grab his ankle again, or just anything, really. He’s tense, like he’s ready to pounce. He thinks about Naba chasing after a screwed up chocolate wrapper and tries to smile. What he doesn’t expect is - 

“Hello, Connor,” says a voice, behind them. 

They whip around, and there they are; Connor’s sisters, dressed in long, long blue and a pink matching dresses, looking like princesses. They probably are. They are in a huge, fuck off castle, after all. 

“Not one of mine,” Kevin whispers to Connor, who elbows him in his probably bruised ribs so hard Kevin’s vision goes white for a second. 

“A prince shouldn’t be seen wearing those clothes,” says Rebecca (Kevin assumes she’s Rebecca, because he’s heard Connor complain about them enough that he can kind of tell them apart based on tone of voice alone - his imitations are uncanny). 

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” says Connor, looking affronted. 

“Everything,” says Grace. “Her highness is going to be so mad if she sees you covered in dirt like that. Looking all unkempt and coming home with a  _ boy. _ ”

“Her highness can fuck off,” says Connor. “Where is she, anyway? I bet she’d love to see me right now. I know I’m  _ dying  _ to see her.” 

His voice is dripping with a familiar sarcasm that makes Kevin’s heart swell with affection. He’s a little shit, but he’s  _ Kevin’s  _ little shit, and watching him be so outright rude to his family is incredibly satisfying to watch. Kevin wishes he could have that kind of attitude towards his parents. He’s a lot meeker around them, a lot more eager to please, even these days - the handful of times they’ve spoken on the phone, Kevin has been more than a little desperate to find anything but hard edges in his mother’s voice. Maybe he would act differently, in this world, but he can’t imagine that he would do anything other than run into his mom’s arms and hope that she would fix everything for him. He doesn’t even  _ like _ her that much; but she’s his mother, and Kevin has never taken too kindly to being disliked, and being so coddled growing up means that Kevin isn’t great at being independent most of the time. Connor isn’t like that, though. Connor fixes things by himself. 

“She’s not here,” says Rebecca, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Father’s out of town, too. They’re doing a royal visit.”

“A royal visit where?” says Connor. 

“You know,” says Grace, imitating Rebecca and fidgeting with her hair. “Out and about.”

“So you don’t know, is what you’re saying,” says Connor. “Because I’ve been walking for days and all I’ve seen are weird creepy versions of our own friends and a cat. No royalty in sight.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” says Grace. “They’re finding husbands for us.” 

Kevin sees Connor’s already pale face turn a ghastly shade of white. 

“They’re doing what?”

“You know,” says Grace. “Actively supporting us in our romantic endeavours.”

“Fuck you,” says Connor, balling his fists. If he gets any more wound up, steam is going to come out of his ears. “So what if I like boys. It doesn’t hurt me anymore. Go on, call me a queer, do your worst. I can take it now.”

Kevin feels an overwhelming sense of pride as he watches Connor’s face run through a hundred different emotions. 

“You  _ do _ like boys,” says Grace, giggling. “Everybody at school always used to make fun of us for having a gay brother.”

“That’s nice,” says Connor. “Everybody used to make fun of me because you had a gay brother, too.” 

Kevin touches Connor’s elbow, but Connor shies away from him. Probably not in company, he thinks.

“Mom and Dad were so mad,” says Rebecca, her voice sounding almost like she’s doing an impression of a girl. Kevin doesn’t like it one bit. Whatever they are, they certainly aren’t Connor’s sisters. “Their only son.” 

“We’re allowed to like boys, though,” Grace says. “Mum and Dad can’t wait for us to get married to handsome men and have little babies with them -” 

“Leave him alone,” says Kevin, because he can’t stand the look on Connor’s face any longer. 

“Kevin, stay out of it.”

“Kevin?” says Rebecca, her hand flying up to her mouth, chewing her nails nervously. “This is  _ Kevin?”  _

“Oh my God, Becca, please,” says Connor, his eyes as wide as saucers. Kevin would be laughing if he wasn’t quite so terrified. “Shut up.”

“Don’t tell your sister to shut up,” says Grace, and pushes him in the shoulder. It looks like it hurts. “I know you said Kevin was cute, but I didn’t realise he would be  _ this  _ cute.” 

“Uh,” says Kevin. 

“He’s so handsome,” says Rebecca, staring at him with glass eyes. “I see why you couldn’t shut up about him.” 

“Guys,” Connor hisses. “Not  _ in front of him.”  _

“Oh please, he probably knows you have a crush on him already. Not great at hiding that, are you Connor? Remember what happened?” 

Grace walks over to Kevin and puts her hand on his chest, slipping her fingers in between the buttons. 

“Um,” says Kevin. “No thank you?”

“Come on,” says Rebecca, walking over to him. “You know you want us.”

Kevin’s eyes meet Connor’s horrified ones over the top of their heads. He swallows. 

“I really, really don’t,” says Kevin. “Con? Little help here?”    
  
Grace is  _ biting his ear  _ and Rebecca is unbuttoning his shirt - Jesus Christ - and Connor is stood there with his mouth agape  _ not doing anything about the situation _ \- 

“Connor!” he snaps. “Do something!”

Connor watches them like he’s in a trance. Not like he’s spaced out, like. Like he’s not all there. Kevin feels panic rising inside of him and tries to stay calm. This might be the worst time in his entire life for him to have one of his little meltdowns. 

One of their hands goes to his fly, and - he pushes them, as hard as he can, and they both fall onto the hard, stone floor with an undignified, otherworldly screech.

“Connor?” says Kevin, frantically. Connor tilts his head as he considers him and Kevin stares back at him, becomes stupid with the dazed look in his eyes and the look of  _ envy  _ plastered all over his face. Well. That’s certainly a new development. 

There’s a horrible screeching sound, and something hard and sharp and incredibly painful bites his leg. He looks down and see’s Grace’s? Rebeccas? Mouth clamped onto his skin, blood trickling down his pants.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he cries. He kicks her off with his other foot, falls on his ass and scrambles back as quickly as possible. Connor snaps out of it at Kevin’s yell, and his eyes turn dark and stormy. 

“You two are the  _ fucking worst,  _ did you know that?” 

Connor runs over and grabs one of them by the hair. Their faces aren’t their faces anymore; they’re grotesque, with bulging eyes and horrible, sharp teeth. He kicks the other and pulls Kevin off the floor. They screech and screech, but Kevin and Connor keep running, hand in hand, pulling each other along as fast as they can. 

“My fucking  _ leg _ ,” Kevin cries out, still managing to run but his eyes are watering and he’s in such an incredible amount of pain he doesn’t understand how he’s still upright, but he concentrates on the feeling of Connor’s hand in his and bites his lip until he can taste blood in his mouth. 

“I know,” says Connor, pulling Kevin along with obvious difficulty. “Turn left, down the stairs, come on come on come on -”

There’s a huge, deafening screech behind them and Kevin can’t help it, he turns around to look. 

The monster is huge; two heads fused together, three eyes, tall and lumbering and disgusting. Its face is mostly teeth and huge, green eyes that almost glow. 

“Connor,” Kevin yells. “Look.” 

Connor does look, and the monster is getting closer and closer, and Connor closes his eyes for a second before looking at Kevin with a familiar determination, the face he pulls when he gets all District Leader-y when encountered with a problem. 

“I fucking hate my sisters,” Connor yells. “I fucking hate you guys!”

“I’m not particularly fond,” Kevin wheezes. “Come on, keep running, it’s not too quick -” 

“I’m going as fast as I can!” 

They run around corner after corner, trying to lose the trail but failing miserably because of Kevin’s leg. He almost tells Connor to go on without him, but he doesn’t actually have a death wish and would really like the opportunity to yell at Connor about this entire situation and how fucked up it is. 

“Basement,” Connor yells at him. “Basement doors, go, go -”

They practically fall down the stairs, and end up in what looks suspiciously like a dungeon. They pull the overhead doors behind them and Connor slots the wooden bar over them. 

“Fuck,” says Kevin, collapsing on the floor and clutching his leg. “Oh my God, this hurts so much, this is like the most painful thing that has ever happened to me  _ ever. _ ” 

Connor bends over, clutching his sides, and watches Kevin, red faced and panting. 

“Worse than when the scorpion bit you?”

“So much worse,” says Kevin. 

“You cried,” says Connor, with a smile playing on his lips. 

Kevin peels back his tattered trouser leg to look at the wound. There’s a lot of blood and mangled skin and Kevin feels a lot like he’s going to be sick. 

“I’m going to be sick,” says Kevin, before throwing up onto the hard, cold floor. He scoots away from it, disgusted at himself, and winces as he drags his leg across the floor.

“Gross,” says Connor, wrinkling his nose. He walks over to Kevin, bends down next to him, and hovers his hand over his leg. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ow,” Kevin grits out through his clenched teeth. He looks up the ceiling, trying to blink back tears. This is totally not the time to embarrass himself like this. Crying can happen later, when they’re not hiding in a fucking dungeon from a bloodthirsty monster. 

Connor, looking morose, rubs his back soothingly. They hear a crashing noise from upstairs and wince, looking at each other in horror.   


“This is horrific,” says Connor, with his head in his hands. “I hate this the most out of everything I've ever hated.” 

“Creepy demonic twins,” says Kevin, trying to stop the bleeding with his hands. “Your subconscious really did a number on you with that one.”

“Says the boy who dreamed about a fucking door for six months,” says Connor, glaring at him. “How uncreative is that?”

“My door didn’t want to  _ eat people _ , Connor.” 

“We don’t know they’re going to eat us. They might just rip our heads off. Oh my God, they’re going to rip our heads off, that’s what they  _ do,  _ it’s a play on words, right -”

“Green eyed monster,” says Kevin, feeling icy horror crawl up his throat from the bottom of his chest. “You’re the  _ worst,  _ I cannot believe your brain sometimes, honestly if your jealousy over your sister’s freedom to like boys -”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” says Connor, holding up his hands. “Look, I’m not happy about this either. Just because it’s not your fault for once -”

“ _ My  _ fault _?”  _ Kevin snaps, because he’s probably going to die, and he has a lot of unfinished business with Connor McKinley. “Everything has been your fault! The Elders were your friends, and your responsibility, and somehow I don’t think that one had much to do with me.”

“The villagers were all you, buddy,” says Connor, raising his voice. Kevin winces. The sisters are going to hear them and then it’ll be game over. “Just because you have a hero complex and you can’t get over not being the saviour of those poor people.”

“You’re the one who caused the creepy house and the  _ actual demons in your closet  _ that almost killed us _ ,  _ Connor, oh my God.”

“You dreamed up this place and dragged me along with you because you can’t get over me.”

“You’re the one who left me without a word, without any explanation, as if it all meant nothing to you!”

“You’re the one who pushed too hard and scared me off.”

“And you,” says Kevin, so wound up he’s almost nervously laughing, “are the one who came onto me in the first place.”

They glare at each other. But the moment is broken; they hear a huge thud on the ceiling. Their faces fall when they hear the thud again, and then again, the vibrations rattling dust down into their hair. 

“I don’t want to die,” says Connor. He looks at Kevin for a long moment, tilting his head in contemplation. Kevin can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about, when he should be thinking about how to get out of here alive, before Connor grabs Kevin’s face and kisses him, hard, once, on the mouth. Kevin feels a little dazed. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” 

Then he grabs Kevin, hauls him up, and drags him along by the hand. 

“Quickly,” he whispers. 

“I don’t think we can run away,” says Kevin, trying not to panic. “We’re trapped, and my  _ leg. _ ”

“So we kill it,” says Connor. 

“Kill your sisters?”

“They’re not my sisters,” says Connor. “They’re a manifestation of my repressed anger that they were encouraged to like boys and I had to go to years of Church-mandated therapy.” 

“Right,” says Kevin. “Glad to know you’re finally becoming self aware. You’re almost all grown up.”

“Shut  _ up,”  _ says Connor, “And help me find a weapon.” 

They settle on a loose, iron bar that’s helpfully spiked on the end. They both know that this is Connor’s fight, metaphorically and literally speaking, considering Kevin’s leg has been served as breakfast for the Ugly Stepsisters. Kevin feels faint looking at the drip-drip-dripping blood on the dungeon floor. He’s worried he’s going to throw up again, but then the monster bangs on the overhead doors and Kevin thinks  _ I am going to kill you, Connor McKinley, trapping us in a dungeon was the worst idea you have ever had in your entire life, including that time you made us all eat fried grasshoppers because it’s apparently a delicacy and - _

Wood splinters, showering dust and light down into the dungeon, and three huge, bulging, inquisitive green eyes peer down at them, before they’re presented with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth in a gross imitation of a smile. Kevin swallows.

“Go hide in the corner,” Connor says, softly, out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t sound scared, so Kevin breathes and counts to three and slowly slides himself over the floor. 

“Please don’t get eaten,” says Kevin. 

“I really hope those aren’t the last words you ever say to me,” says Connor. 

The monster screeches, then lurches, then finally descends down the stairs, lumbering slowly but all the more terrifying for it. There’s a few agonising, painful seconds whilst it descends and Kevin’s eyes flit in between the hard line of Connor’s determined mouth and the twins’ tentacle-like legs and how the light shines off its back and how it’s actually kind of slimy, now that he has a few seconds to take it all in properly. It has a hunchback, almost, as if it’s bending over to talk to you like a child. 

“Fuck you,” says Connor, and Kevin has a second - just one, glorious second - to admire just how incredibly attractive Connor looks right now, fearlessly about to try and take down a monster, back straight and eyes narrowed. His hair looks darker than usual, as do his eyes, and he looks somehow taller. He’s grown into his limbs more than when Kevin first met him, but he’s still tall and gangly, too skinny to fight, really, but he’s going to do it anyway, because that’s what he has to do. Let’s face it, Connor has never turned down a fight before. Kevin touches his fingers to his lips. Then, inevitably, all Hell breaks loose. 

Kevin wants to say that it happens too quickly to take it all in, but it’s actually quite slow and calculated, not like the invisible monster that was quick and painful - but at least that was over within a matter of minutes. This monster is too large, too bloated and poorly-designed to move quickly enough to take Connor off guard, which is good, but the whole fight is mostly Connor circling it, dodging it, and occasionally managing to stab it, but he’s only making surface wounds. Kevin closes his eyes, thankful that the monster hasn’t noticed him yet (especially considering their vested interest in him earlier this evening), and rapidly goes through every video game that he’s ever watched Arnold play, and how the boss fights always had a signalled solution, like something big and bright you’re supposed to hit with an arrow or, or  

The eyes. It has to be the eyes.

“Connor,” says Kevin, wheezing. “Connor, listen to me. Stab it in its eyes.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Connor yells, and the sound sets off the monster screeching again. Kevin puts his hands over his ears, helpless, wishing there was something, anything he could do. Connor lunges again, and manages to break the skin under its neck, but it’s too tall and Connor can’t really reach its eyes without getting too close and he tries, he  _ does _ , but the thing swipes at him and uses one of it’s tentacle arm-legs to grab Connor, wrap itself around his wrist, and pulls. 

“Fucking  _ die  _ already,” says Connor, still valiantly trying to stab it but his spike-wielding arm is starting to turn purple and Kevin can see the iron bar slowly dropping from Connor’s loosening grip. 

Kevin, because he is a determined idiot who always makes decisions against everybody’s better judgement but his own, manages to shakily stand up. Slowly, still hiding in the dark, hands clamped over his mouth so the monster doesn’t notice his little whimpers of pain, he braces himself with his hand on the wall and propels himself forward, mangled leg be damned. He’s hopeless, at this point, and hopeless for  _ Connor _ , so what has he got to lose, really? He doesn’t even know if he’ll die, here. Maybe they’ll wake up. Kevin always wakes up a split second before he’s about to die in his nightmares. But then again, maybe they won’t. They probably won’t, really, and what if one of them dies and the other doesn’t and they’re trapped here, alone, for another day or week or eternity? 

He catches Connor’s eye, and the expression in them turns from terrified to disbelieving and a little annoyed, the way he always looks at Kevin, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed which how much he kind of loves this stupid, irritating boy with too many arms and legs and mop of hair, fighting a  _ monster _ , and without really thinking about it he grabs one of the shackles hanging off the wall, grabs a fistful of - flesh? - that’s entirely too easy to grab onto, which is  _ disgusting _ , and snaps it shut around a tentacle arm. It must pinch it’s skin, quite violently, because it shrieks again, louder than ever, and starts flailing. It drops Connor’s arm and in its moment of weakness, Connor manages to stab one of its eyes. 

“Good shot,” says Kevin, dragging his leg away from its reach. 

“One down,” says Connor, backing away, watching the monster squirm as it tries to pull the shackle off the wall. The terrifying thing is that it’s working, and now it’s furious - the metal makes a horrible grating sound as the monster tugs it out of the wall. 

Kevin, unsure of what to do, hovers his hand uselessly as if he’s about to reach and grab something. But then the thing lunges for Connor again, and Kevin sees red. He launches himself forward, grabs some of its matted, patchy red hair, and pulls it as hard as he can. It makes that awful sound again, but Connor - beautiful, stupid, brave Connor - reaches forward and stabs one of the two remaining eyes. He must have hit it at an angle, because green goo spurts out of it, all over Connor’s shirt and face and in his hair. 

“You’re disgusting,” Connor tells it. Kevin can’t see its face from this angle, but he has a horrible feeling it’s smiling down at Connor, one eye blinking at him, readying itself to strike again, blind or not blind. 

Connor, suddenly, runs away to the other side of the room. The thing heaves itself over, looking around confused, and Kevin is grateful for the darkness of the dungeon because it smacks itself straight into a beam. Kevin tries not to laugh but it’s such a ridiculous sight, and he’s almost hysterical with helplessness and pain. 

Connor darts away again, when it gets close, to the side. He’s trying to confuse it, to catch it off guard, but it’s smarter than it looks and it uses one of its tentacles to reach over and grab Connor around the waist when he’s not looking. 

Because Connor is smart, and calculating, and observant, he does something Kevin would never think to do in a moment of panic: he uses his brain, and throws his arm holding the spike backwards, and somehow, miraculously, stabs it straight in it’s remaining eye. 

It doesn’t explode into a pile of green goo and blood, like like Kevin expected. It loosens its grip on Connor just enough for him to slide out of its slimy hold, and moves, calmly, over to Kevin. It’s shrieking non-stop, now, and Kevin knows that Connor won this fight before it even started. The twins never had a chance against him. 

“You alright?” says Connor, as if there’s not a seven-foot tall monster slowly making its way back over towards them, tilting its head wildly, confused as to why it can longer see. 

“Peachy,” says Kevin, even though his leg hurts more than anything he’s experienced before, even though he’s in a dungeon with a monster, even though the person he’s mostly in love with is touching his fingers on Kevin’s palm and also kinda definitely  _ kissed him  _ earlier. Even though he’s trapped in a magical dreamworld he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to leave. “Are you?”

“Never better,” says Connor. He turns for one, brief, stupid second to look at Kevin, before charging at the monster for one last time. 

Connor stabs it with the spike, in its brain and in its heart and anywhere he can reach, really. He stabs it over and over again, punctuating each lunge with another very rude word that would have both of their mothers in tears.

Connor stabs it, one excruciating final time, and it collapses on top of him, spurting green blood onto the floor. 

“Connor? Connor!”

Kevin crawls over to him and drags the monster’s huge, very-much-dead tentacles off Connor’s chest. Connor’s eyes are fluttering shut and he’s gasping in and out, this grating sound that Kevin wants to kiss out of his mouth, as he struggles for air. 

“Connor, I swear to God, do  _ not  _ die.” 

“I’ll haunt you,” says Connor, wheezing. “I’ll hang around you all the time just to annoy you.” 

“You did that anyway,” says Kevin, and tries really hard not to sound too fond of the idiot. He brushes back a bit of Connor’s hair, and Connor doesn’t even pull a face at him, just leans into the touch a little. 

“Not recently, though.”

“No,” says Kevin. “Not recently.” 

Kevin is running on adrenaline still, so he kisses Connor’s forehead triumphantly. 

“Get off me,” says Connor. “You big lump.” 

Kevin complies, but not without kissing Connor’s forehead again, and then once more with feeling. 

“That was so incredibly brave and kind of really masculine of you -”

“Stop talking,” says Connor, hauling himself up on his elbows. 

“Yes, sir,” says Kevin, who beams at Connor. He’s practically sat in his lap, before he realises that Connor just fought a monster and he’s probably in a hell of a lot of pain, so rolls off him. He can’t help it, though; he puts an arm around Connor’s shoulders and squeezes. Connor doesn’t even push him away or anything, just closes his eyes and breathes in and out sporadically. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, by the way.” 

“That was the most liberating thing that has ever happened to me,” says Connor, looking at Kevin in such a genuine way that Kevin wants to pinch his cheeks and never let go. “Including demormonisation.” 

“Do you feel good?”

“I feel fucking fantastic,” says Connor. Kevin reaches over and wipes a bit of green gloop off of Connor’s cheek. “You don’t think it’ll hurt them in the real world, though, right? Your hands -”

“I don’t think so,” says Kevin, cutting him off before he can work himself into a panic. “I’m who I am. Your sisters - although they do sound kind of awful - are not monsters who can morph together into one big monster who wants you dead.” 

Connor starts laughing, then, and it’s both hoarse and frightening and beautiful and infectious all at once. Kevin can’t stop staring at him and the way his throat moves. He is so  _ ridiculous,  _ ridiculous for Connor, and Connor kissed him - he kissed him! - and this whole world is upside down and back to front and he loves this stupid boy more than anything on Earth right now. He wants to kiss him, he wants to make Connor kiss him again, and again, and again - 

Connor looks at him with an expression that Kevin knew all too well in Uganda. It makes little butterflies dance about in his chest and he feels a bit like he’s going to throw up again. 

“I’m glad we never got together,” Kevin lies. “Nightmare in-laws.” 

Connor laughs again, like he can’t stop doing it now he’s started, and Kevin can’t help himself, he grins at him until he feels like his cheeks are going to split open. Connor just defeated a monster, they’re  _ alive,  _ and Connor kissed him. His heart is swollen with so much affection that he feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest and all over Connor. 

“I’m sorry you were sexually assaulted by my sisters,” says Connor. Even though he’s smiling, he looks like he really means it. 

“You came to my rescue,” says Kevin. “It all worked out in the end, don’t worry about it.”

Kevin is worrying about it a little. It was a horrible feeling, and he barely likes being touched as it is, not by strangers, and definitely not by strange monsters. 

“I killed a monster,” says Connor, staring at Kevin. “With a spike. In a dungeon.”

“You saved my life, so,” says Kevin. “Thank you?”

Connor waves the words out of the air with his hand. 

“My pleasure,” he says. “You’re insufferable, but I don’t want you to actually die or anything.”  


“My leg,” says Kevin, after a stab of pain courses through him. “This is going to make walking so difficult.”

“I’ll help you,” says Connor, instantly. He puts his hand on Kevin’s knee and inspects the wound. “That is so gross.”

“I  _ know _ ,” says Kevin, who can’t stop staring at Connor’s hand on his knee because that’s much nicer than looking at his mangled, bloody leg. He can’t feel it, though. All he can feel is pain and sorry for himself. “I hope it doesn’t get infected.”

“I am not chopping your leg off,” says Connor, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “We’re getting out of here so you can go to a hospital, because I am absolutely not dealing with that.”

“Please don’t say they’ll chop my leg off,” says Kevin. “I hate your sisters so much right now.”

“You and me both,” says Connor, quirking a corner of his mouth upwards. “They made my life a living hell.” 

“Clearly,” says Kevin, trying to wipe the blood off his hands onto the floor. It’s not working; his hands are sticky and covered in dirt as well as blood now. His vomit is still on the floor and he’s still bleeding and Connor is covered in green goo and Kevin still - still!  _ \-  _ can’t stop himself from smiling at Connor like an idiot when he reaches forward and brushes some of his hair out of his eyes. “Are you becoming fond of me, Elder McKinley?” 

Connor sighs, defeatedly. 

“Of course I am,” says Connor, still with his fingers in Kevin’s hair. “You’re pretty impossible to hate.”

Kevin  _ beams  _ at him. 

“I must look very attractive right now,” says Kevin, feeling a little self conscious under Connor’s attention. His face is still all bruised and burned from the carpet in Connor’s parents’ house, and Connor said his eye had turned mottled green and yellow this morning, and now his leg looks like mushed up dog food. He thinks back to picking between four different ties because he knew he was going to see Connor and he was so determined to look good, let Connor know exactly what he was missing. That seems so futile now his body has been thrown against  _ two  _ separate evil monsters manifested out of Connor’s issues. “How come I’m the only one getting attacked, here? It’s hardly fair that you get to keep your good looks and I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” says Connor, who never apologises for anything. “This is all my fault.” 

“It was my door,” says Kevin. “I just dragged you through it.”

“We never tried to go through it together, did we? In the dream.”

“No,” says Kevin, trying to remember back to his old life. He feels like he was always here, like he’s been in this world forever. “I never even thought about it.”

“Hm,” says Connor. He cards his fingers through Kevin’s hair again, and Kevin leans a little desperately into the touch. “Maybe it’s our door, not your door.” 

Kevin appreciates the sentiment. 

“We should move,” says Kevin. “We should see if this place has running water. I can’t imagine your parents will be back from their  _ royal visit  _ any time soon.”

“I really don’t want to find out,” says Connor, but then he looks at Kevin again and must see the goo on his shirt and the blood all over his trousers, dirt on his hands, and probably vomit still around his mouth, his hair greasy in between his fingers, and shakes his head. “You are so disgusting. Let’s go find a bathroom.” 

“You’re one to talk,” says Kevin, reaching out to Connor’s hair and pulling back green, gooey fingers to show Connor. He wrinkles his nose, then stands up with purpose, pulling Kevin with him. He puts his arm underneath Kevin’s, around his back, and helps him move. Walking up the partially destroyed stairs takes almost all of whatever is left of Kevin’s energy, but Connor drags him along anyway, kicking open doors with his legs until he finds a huge, ornate bathroom. 

“I’m all for extravagance,” says Connor. “But this is ridiculous.”

Kevin eyes the bathtub like it’s a long-lost wife he’s seeing for the first time since he got back from war. 

“Don’t look at me with those puppy dog eyes, Price. Go stick your head under the faucet.” 

Kevin does. He watches the dirt run down his hands, swirling into the plug. There’s some blood, there, too. Kevin winces as he puts the wrong amount of pressure on his leg. He turns to see Connor with his head submerged in the sink, watches him reemerge and shake the wet tips of his hair out like a dog, blinking water out of his eyes. 

Connor doesn’t look away. Kevin’s face twitches imperceptibly when droplets fall from his hair onto his cheeks, and he watches Connor back, dripping wet and ridiculous. 

“You still have goo on your face,” says Kevin.

Connor grins at him and wipes his face, before walking back over to Kevin, dripping wet. He hoists him up so Kevin’s sat on the edge of the huge tub, rolls up Kevin’s trouser leg for him, and turns on the tap. Kevin winces so much he feels like he’s vibrating. Nothing has ever hurt this bad before. He didn’t even know pain like this  _ existed.  _

He’s not exactly proud of the sound that comes out of his mouth as the cold water rinses out the wound. He’s vaguely aware of Connor speaking softly into his ear, but he has no idea what he’s saying. His vision is mostly black, with dancing coloured lights, until he realises that he’s been screwing his eyes shut, and opens them to see Connor, looking up at Kevin from under his bangs, one hand gripping his knee, the other braced on his shoulder. 

“Almost done,” says Connor, and Kevin looks down to see blood and dirt and little bits of gravel make their way down his leg to the porcelain  bottom . He looks back up at Connor, mouth open like he’s going to say something but he has no idea what words could even be used to describe the horrible, painful-yet-numb feeling in his leg. Connor smiles at him a little, oddly reassuring and calm. “You’re okay. It’ll be over soon.” 

Kevin, suddenly, is in Kitguli again, a year and a half ago, head pushed between his knees as Connor says the exact same thing to him, rubbing his back as Kevin vomits all the alcohol out of his system out of sheer anxiety. He’s hot again, his blood running warmer, listening to the low sounds of Connor’s voice murmuring placating, if a little condescending, words. He’s there and here at once; there’s birds in the air, sunlight filtering through the sparse trees, sat on the edge of a bathtub, exposed flesh on his leg, Connor gripping his shoulder here, and there, and he feels like he’s about to black out at any second. 

“Stop it,” says Kevin, knuckles turning white where they’re gripping the edge. “Turn off the water. Please. Just - turn it  _ off _ .”

Connor does, then gives him a strange look as Kevin breathes heavily, trying to shake the feeling of Kitguli, of a different time, trying not to replay the memory out entirely and grabbing his hand, making him sit there, rubbing his thumb over the back of Kevin’s hand. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m - yeah.” 

“I don’t believe you for a second,” says Connor. “You really never were a good liar.” 

“No,” says Kevin, shaking slightly, gripping the top of his calf as if that’ll help anything. “This has been the weirdest day of my life.” 

“No kidding,” says Connor. He smiles. “We made it, though. We totally didn’t die. Again.”

“We are kind of awesome,” says Kevin. “Well. You are.” 

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” says Connor. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your leg manage to miraculously heal itself for just enough time for you to save me, there.” 

“Yeah, well,” says Kevin, feeling oddly bashful. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in magic dream world, it’s that adrenalin is awesome.”

“We’re going to run out, you know.”

“We could take it easy. We could stay here, maybe. There’s huge beds everywhere. We wouldn’t even need to snuggle this time.”

Connor hits him, and Kevin wants to say that he’s already wounded, but he did kind of deserve that one. 

“After all the familial drama,” says Connor. “If we meet a monsterous version of my mother - I mean, do you really wanna find out what that would look like?”

“Okay, we’re going,” says Kevin. “But then I need to lie down. For a long time.”

“You and me both,” says Connor. He hoists Kevin up as best he can. Kevin bites his lip until it bleeds. 

They make their way out of the castle slowly, leaving Kevin time to admire the odd attention to detail, and the simultaneous lack thereof; the faceless portraits watch them as Connor heaves Kevin along with him, foot dragging uselessly on the floor, Kevin trying to put pressure on it every so often, Connor admonishing him for being a stubborn idiot. They’re surrounded by huge, hand-carved gold frames. The carpets are a deep red, laced with bronze trim, a detailed pattern woven into the floor beneath their beat-up shoes. 

When they finally reach the outside door, Kevin is so grateful for the safety of the path that he almost passes out from sheer relief. 

“Keep going,” says Connor. “You got this. I got you.”

_ Do you?  _ thinks Kevin. 

“Okay,” he says. 

He sits down almost immediately when they’re back on the path. He blinks tears out of his eyes, but he knows they’ll be red-rimmed anyway. His tongue feels too big for his mouth where he’s bitten it so hard he thinks he might have pierced it. 

Connor flops down next to him, crossing his legs and looking down the path. 

“Where do you think Naba is?”

“She’ll turn up,” says Kevin. “Maybe she’ll magically bring us some medical supplies. Or an ambulance.”

“Maybe we’ll find the way out tomorrow,” says Connor, uncharacteristically optimistic. Kevin narrows his eyes at him, even though he’s not looking. 

“You don’t have to pretend everything is fine just because of my stupid leg, you know.”

“Okay,” says Connor, then swivels around to look back at the castle, back down the path the way they came, and back at Kevin, a scrutinising look clouding his features. “I fucking hate this world. It’s cruel and it feels like it’s taunting us. Like it’s been making fun of me. I spent a really long time getting over it, and here this world is, like, oh hey, Elder McKinley, wanna remember all the shit you’ve been compartmentalising for two years so you can be somebody who doesn’t hate himself?” 

“I know,” says Kevin. “I know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t,” says Connor. He’s looks so familiarly pissed off that it makes Kevin feel a little better. “You said it yourself. You never had a problem with it. And it’s not the same thing, you know. I know how much you miss Kitguli, and Nabulungi, and everyone, I really do. But it doesn’t cut as deep. The universe isn’t making fun of you about the thing that everybody made you feel ashamed of, even though you couldn’t help it.” 

Kevin doesn’t really know what to say. Connor isn’t wrong, and it is unfair, and Connor really has been through a lot and he’s still standing, still fighting literal monsters out of sheer bitterness. 

“The demons in your closet were a bit much,” is what he finally settles on. “But you kicked ass. Both times. And that means something, Elder McKinley.” 

Connor knocks their shoulders together. 

“Thanks,” he says. “You’re a good friend, you know.”

Kevin heart lurches in his chest, half way up his throat. Friends is nice. Friends is not, however, what he wants. It isn’t what he wants at all. But then again, Kevin has spent a lot time not getting what he wants. Instead of running in the other direction, instead of self-destructing, maybe he could settle instead. Carefully not thinking about Connor’s lips on his an hour, two hours ago, he thinks he could compromise with friends. 

“So are you,” says Kevin. Connor smiles, and it reaches his ears. “Can we just - sit, for a bit?” 

“Sure we can,” says Connor, easily enough. He leans back on his elbows, and the tiny stones must be digging into his skin, yet the ground is still oddly soft beneath them. Like the spongy, fake tarmac in a playground. Kevin closes his eyes, and teaches himself how to breathe through the pain. 


	8. Eight

Kevin wakes up, groggy and confused, and it’s not that it takes him a minute to remember where he is - it’s more like he remembers all too clearly, and sits up, alert and awake, trying to sleepily blink his eyes into functioning so he can see if they’re in any danger.

Luckily, they’re not. They’re still on the path; exactly where they left off, and Kevin doesn’t know why he expected anything different, but the pain in his leg did wake him up and he has been involved in _four_ separate traumatic incidents recently, so he thinks he can be excused for being cautious.

He looks over to his left, to check Connor is still there, that he hasn’t been snatched away in the night, and finds him curled up on his side, looking right back at him.

“You’re a little edgy,” says Connor. He sits up, too, watching him warily. “You okay, Elder Price?”

“Never better,” Kevin mutters. Connor cocks his head to the side, and pouts a little. Kevin sneers at him, before Connor grins, impishly, and slides his way over to where Kevin is sat.

“I don’t really want to deal with today,” says Connor.

“So we don’t,” says Kevin. “We could just - stay here. It’s not like we need to eat, or drink water. It’s kind of nice, you know. With the flowers and everything. It’s quiet, too. And - and this is a big one - there’s no monsters.”

“That’s not a great idea,” says Connor. “You’ll go insane inside your own head all day, and then you’ll drive _me_ insane. We might actually, finally kill each other.”

“I’ll risk it,” says Kevin, poking his leg morosely. His trousers have huge, gaping, blood-stained holes in them.

“You’re going to have a brutal scar,” says Connor, moving to lightly hover his hand over Kevin’s, as if when he touched it, it would be okay. “It’ll make you seem all mysterious. People are into that stuff, right?”

“What, that a - shark, or something, attacked me?”

“You’ll always have something to talk about at parties,” says Connor.

Kevin snorts. That’s one way to look at it, he supposes.

“I tried dating, you know.”

Connor’s eyes are dark. It makes Kevin’s insides squirm.

“Did you now.”

“I did,” says Kevin. “It didn’t work out.”

Connor’s face lightens a little. He was always so good at keeping a straight face, keeping his emotions bottled up where nobody can see. Kevin feels like he’s been rubbed raw and knows Connor must feel the same way, from the look on his face and the dark, dark circles under his hollow eyes.

“I didn’t date anyone,” Connor offers. Kevin eagerly takes it. He’d imagined a dozen, two dozen, different scenarios in his head where Connor dates boys who are better than him.

“Good,” says Kevin. Connor gives him what Kevin can only interpret as a smirk.

“What was it like?” says Connor, and immediately turns bright red.

“Weird,” says Kevin, instead of _not you_. He knows that’s the answer he’s looking for, and he’s not going to give him the satisfaction. “Awkward.”

“Right,” says Connor. “Not a lot of people are into the ex-Mormon thing.”

“It was more the co-founding a cult part,” says Kevin.

“What, do you still practice it or something?”

“Not really,” says Kevin. “But it’s been a huge part of my life. It’s kind of been the only thing I’ve ever done that mattered. So I’m not going to pretend like it never happened just so I’ll look more normal or something. I know I’m technically allowed to, now, but I don’t really feel like lying.”

“Right,” says Connor, giving him a funny look. “Well. I can see why that might put somebody off.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin. “It’s kind of. Hard to be normal, when you’ve lived the most ridiculous life.”

“What, this isn’t ridiculous enough for you?”

Kevin can’t help it, he looks up at him and smiles, and marvels at how Connor, slowly, smiles back.

“Anyway. I don’t think my leg is going to affect my love life, all that much.”

“Yeah?” says Connor. He sounds a bit like he’s going to choke. Kevin takes immense satisfaction in it.

“It’s pretty nonexistent,” Kevin explains. “Not whatever you were thinking.”

“Shut up,” says Connor. His eyes glaze over, for a second, before he visibly shakes off whatever was going through his brain. “We could stay here, for a little while. If you wanted. I’m exhausted.”

“I don’t think I could walk very far if you paid me for it,” says Kevin, poking at his leg again.

“Don’t touch it, that’s gross,” says Connor, half-heartedly batting his hand away. “On a scale of not at all to please chop my leg off immediately how much does it hurt?”

“It’s around a ‘I’m going to reveal what a baby I am by crying if I move it funny.’”

“I wouldn’t judge you for that,” says Connor. “I’ve seen you cry loads of times.”

“Ha ha,” says Kevin. He lies down, flat on his back, and Connor mirrors him. Kevin looks up and tries to count as many flowers as he can. “What are we going to do? If it doesn’t get better?”

“Your eye has healed fairly quickly,” says Connor, reaching out and poking him in his bruise. “Maybe your leg will heal faster, too.”

“Maybe,” says Kevin. He really, really hopes so. “It definitely doesn’t hurt as much as it should.”

“That’s good,” says Connor, and then he frowns. “Unless you’re in shock, or something.”

“Hey,” says Kevin, shifting, noticing something for the first time. Connor’s wrist - he was wearing his jacket, yesterday, but now he’s using it as a pillow. There’s thick, red welts there, where the sisters’ arm wrapped around it. “Your arm.”

Connor looks at it as if he didn’t even realise. Kevin feels something hot and intense and embarrassing when he looks at the mark. He flashes back; Connor flirting with Mukisa, his hand wrapped around Connor’s wrist, pulling him along, the intensity of the anger that Kevin felt settling in his stomach like an old friend. Kevin finds himself reaching out before he even realises, wraps his fingers around Connor’s wrist in the red grooves.

Connor, to his credit, doesn’t falter. He just looks at Kevin with heavy eyes, and shrugs.

“It not painful,” says Connor. “I forgot about it, because of your leg.”

“You’re hurt,” says Kevin, stupidly. He hasn’t had coffee in so long that the mornings feel even more painful and foggy. He watches his own hand, not letting go of Connor, as if his touch can burn the memories away that Kevin sees when he looks at him. The flirting. The fight. The make up. The second fight. The dancing around the issue; Kevin punching a wall, Connor yelling at him, pissing everybody so much they didn’t talk to him for days while Kevin sulked at Nabulungi’s. He wants to get rid of all of it. “You should have said something.”

“My sisters literally tried to eat you,” says Connor.

“They hurt you, too,” says Kevin. “You’re hurt too. Stop fighting it. Be angry. Be hurt. For once, Elder McKinley, just let yourself actually feel something.”

_You have no right to be angry at me._ Kevin blinks, startled by the ferocity of the memory. _It’s none of your business._

“Fuck you,” says Connor, mildly.

_Stop being such a fucking robot,_ Kevin had said. _Do you actually feel anything at all?_

Kevin lets go of Connor’s arm. Connor doesn’t say anything, just shakes it out a little. Kevin watches the flowers change colour for a while, trying to focus on anything other than that night when Connor had smiled at Mukisa the way he smiles at Kevin. It doesn’t really work. He thinks about all the people Kevin has smiled at like that, back in America. It doesn’t make him feel any better. Kevin has always been selfish like that, though. Just because he’s allowed something doesn’t mean that everybody else should, too.

“I spy with my little eye,” says Connor, after what could have been ten minutes or twenty or an hour. “Something beginning with ‘f’.”

“Wow, that’s a hard one,” says Kevin. “Flower?”

“You’re good at this,” says Connor. “I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘h’.”

“Harrowing journey of self-discovery?”

Connor snorts.

“I was going for ‘hedge’, but that’ll do.”

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘p’,” says Kevin.

“Person I probably shouldn’t have pushed away and ignored for six months?”

Kevin goes still. He was not expecting that. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. Sometimes he wishes he had somebody to tell him what is and isn’t a proper emotional response to things. Usually he has Arnold, but Arnold isn’t exactly stable either, and anyway that’s irrelevant because Arnold isn’t here. But what would Arnold tell him to do?

“Probably not,” says Kevin, shrugging as best he can laid on his back. Play it cool, he tells himself. Just because Connor made one tiny little step towards an apology doesn’t mean he has to do something stupid. Even if stupid is his middle name, as Connor often told him.

“Definitely not,” says Connor, turning away from him to watch the flowers, too. Kevin focuses on anything other than how his heart is thumping so loudly in his chest that he thinks Connor can probably hear it.

“You have a surprising talent for making things awkward, you know,” Kevin tells him, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“If somebody else came here,” says Connor, ignoring him. “And we were part of _their_ journey of self discovery, what do you think we’d be?”

“I don’t know,” says Kevin. “Depends what their issues with us are.”

“It probably wouldn’t be very flattering,” says Connor.

“Probably not,” Kevin agrees. “How do you think your sisters would take it if they found out your subconscious thinks they’re one, big ugly twin monster?”

Connor hums, then turns to Kevin with a smile on his face. Kevin grins back, but doesn’t know what he’s smiling about.

“We’d be together,” says Connor.

“Right,” says Kevin, not quite sure what they’re talking about.

“Like, I think if say, this was Arnold’s dream, me and you would be together.”

“Oh,” says Kevin, feeling hot. “Yeah. Probably.”

“And it would be about, like. Us. You know?”

“Sure,” says Kevin, nodding along. “You mean our relationship status?”

“I’m changing my facebook to it’s complicated,” says Connor, in his airiest voice. Kevin grins even wider, and Connor decidedly doesn’t look at him. It’s probably for the best, because Kevin can feel the tips of his ears burning.

“You don’t have facebook,” says Kevin.

“Wow, you really did try to stalk me, huh?”

Kevin shrugs.

“Like you didn’t stalk me back,” he tries. He’s surprised at Connor’s pointed silence. “Oh my God, you did!”

“Wanted to see how you were getting ugly,” says Connor. “Only you’re hilariously photogenic, because of course you are, so it didn’t really work out for me.”

“Were you pining? Were you pining after me?”

Kevin smiles at Connor gleefully when he turns to glare at him.

“No,” he says, his voice perfectly even, the expression on his face perfectly flat. He’s so _good_ at that. “You were being incredibly annoying. Why wouldn’t you leave me alone?”

“Why didn’t you block my number?”

Connor doesn’t say anything, just sighs heavily and turns back to look upwards.

“How long would you have kept it up? Trying to get me to talk to you?”

“Forever,” says Kevin, answering without even having to think about it. “I would have tried every other day until I died.”

“You could get arrested for that.”

“You wouldn’t press charges,” Kevin accuses him.

“But what if we’d never run into each other,” says Connor. “Imagine there was no wedding. It’s years from now, you’ve had a girlfriend for a year and you’re thinking of proposing. Would you still text me all the time?”

“Yes,” says Kevin. “I would.”

“Because of your feelings for me?”

“Because I miss you,” says Kevin. “I still want you in my life, even if it’s not like - that, you know?”

“Really?”

“And truly,” says Kevin. “We were best friends.”

“I know,” says Connor. “At the wedding, I wanted to talk to you so badly. But I knew you’d talk to me first.”

Kevin’s feels something pleasant curl around his insides.

“You looked really good, by the way,” says Connor. “It’s a good shirt and tie combination.”

_I love you,_ thinks Kevin, out of nowhere. He doesn’t mean it like _that_ (only oh, maybe he does, he doesn’t know, doesn’t know _anything_ anymore) but it’s still true; he loves him, and it’s as simple as that.

“I knew you’d like it,” says Kevin. “That’s why I picked it.”

“I figured,” says Connor. “It was nice, seeing everyone again.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, because it was. They didn’t always get on, but the Elders were his whole life for a while there. Growing up, growing into each other’s spaces, everything belonging to everybody, their personalities becoming a weird mish-mash of each other’s as they discovered who they really were without scripture to hide behind. What did they want to talk about, if not God? What were they supposed to do instead of praying?

“I was a terrible district leader,” says Connor.

“You were not,” says Kevin. “The circumstances changed, sure. But you were still a good leader.”

“I barely did anything by the end,” says Connor. “You basically took over the admin position anyway, once you got it in your head that we had to provide as much relief as possible.”

“Do you resent me for that?”

“No,” says Connor, shaking his head slowly. “How could I be resentful of the guy who saved two dozen kids’ lives?”

“You were so much better with the Elders than I was, though,” says Kevin. He got the feeling that most of them didn’t even like him all that much, so he generally spent most of his time outside with the villagers or with Arnold. Elder McKinley didn’t leave the hut too often. The sun blistered his skin and he couldn’t stand the heat, and he’s not exactly great at manual labour, he hates kids. The list goes on and on. “Why were you appointed district leader, anyway?”

“Right?” says Connor. “My parents called in a favour. I definitely wasn’t appointed based on my _characteristics,_ you know?”

“I don’t know,” says Kevin. “You’re very practical. And stubborn. And you love a good meeting.”

“I do,” says Connor. “You do not.”

“I didn’t mind them when the feelings ball wasn’t involved.”

“The feelings ball was introduced specifically for you, Elder Price,” says Connor. He smiles, just a little quirk on the lips, and Kevin turns into goo.

“You could just ask me,” says Kevin. “About my feelings.”

“The goal was to get you to talk about it yourself,” says Connor. “It’s not like you don’t project everything, everywhere, all the time. I already know, you just need to say it out loud.”

Kevin doesn’t want to use words. Kevin wants to use his mouth, sure, but he wants to stick his tongue down Connor’s throat to show him his real _feelings_. Words won’t do any good. Words will get stuck in his throat and die there.

“You were a good district leader,” says Kevin, instead. “You inspired others to have a spirit of love, unity, obedience, and hard work.”

“You really did memorise the Missionary Handbook,” says Connor. “And anyway, that was you and Arnold.”

“It’s not like you to be so self-deprecating,” says Kevin, and then thinks back to the first time he met Elder McKinley, the first few months, when _all_ he did was be incredibly harsh on himself. Pedantic and always right, never wrong, but still harsh on himself. Kevin didn’t really like Elder McKinley very much. Connor, on the other hand.

“Love and unity. That’s your thing.”

“You’re a grumpy old man,” says Kevin.

“You’re childish. It’s annoying.”

“It’s called a lust for life,” says Kevin. “Thank you very much.”

Connor snorts. It’s not very attractive, but Kevin still feels his eyes shape-shifting into hearts anyway. There’s no way that Connor doesn’t see the way he looks at him. He’s always had a face that shows every emotion that he has. Connor isn’t doing anything about it, but he’s not _not_ doing anything either.

“Do you ever think about it? Uganda?”

Connor looks at him for a long time. Kevin can feel his eyes, hot and intense, against his cheek.

“Of course I do,” says Connor, with that annoyed edge to his voice that makes Kevin roll his eyes on instinct. “Do you really think of me like that? Like - like I’m so indifferent, I just forget about everything as soon as it’s over? Like I’m some kind of, emotionless, cold-hearted person?”

“No,” says Kevin, even though he kind of does, even though he’s spent the past six months telling himself exactly that. It’s not something he’s proud of, but Connor has never really gone out of his way to prove him wrong. “I just think you’re closed-off.”

“I think about it all the time,” says Connor. “I think about you all the time.”

Kevin is - well, Kevin is Kevin, and it takes him about half a second before his brain explodes with a thousand feelings and a hundred questions.

“I’m not emotionless,” says Connor. “I hate that you think that about me. I hate that you’ve always thought that about me. Like - like you think there’s something underneath my cold veneer, or something. I don’t know. This is stupid.”

“I think,” says Kevin, slowly. “We should probably talk about it.”

“I know,” says Connor, sighing. “But we should move soon. My legs are cramping.”

“Connor,” says Kevin, giving him a look. Connor’s shoulders slump.

“I hate how you think that there’s something exciting, that you’re eager to find, like you think I’m some sort of puzzle you can find the solution to and you’ll get a reward. But there’s nothing about me that you don’t already know. I’m not as interesting as you decided I was, one random day in Kitlugi, Uganda.”

“I didn’t just randomly decide,” says Kevin. He furrows his brow at him, but Connor isn’t looking. “It’s not like I woke up one day, like, oh today I’ll decide to fall head over heels for -”

“Please don’t,” says Connor.

“I didn’t choose you on some whim. Do you really think I would have picked you if I had a choice?”

Kevin has never seen Connor look so angry as he does right now.

“Go fuck yourself,” he seethes. He stands up, abruptly, grabbing his suit jacket and putting it on as he goes, brushing dust off it with far too much force. Kevin drags himself up, wincing, and yells after him. Connor, predictably, doesn’t respond.

Kevin tries to walk. It doesn’t go very well, and he stumbles almost immediately, not knowing how much force he should put down on his leg. It turns out not a lot, and when he falls, he sees Connor’s shoulders tense as he stops.

Kevin pulls himself up, feeling helpless, knowing that saying anything to Connor right now would be a bad idea. He stares at the back of Connor’s head, remembering all the times he made Connor so mad he couldn’t even look at him.

Connor, finally, turns around and stomps over to him. Instead of helping him up like Kevin expected, he crouches down on his haunches as if he’s speaking to a child.

“I have never met anybody like you,” says Connor. “I wouldn’t choose me, either.”

He grabs Kevin’s arm and pulls him upright, supporting him with his shoulders, before he can even begin to think about how to answer that. Kevin feels dizzy with the pain, forgets everything he was thinking, and tries to take a step.

Because Kevin feels too awkward, he doesn’t say anything, in the end. If he said, _that wasn’t what I meant,_ Connor would say, _I know, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true,_ and then Kevin would have to be confronted with the fact that maybe Elder McKinley is right. Maybe that is what Kevin meant. Connor is so prickly, so emotionally unavailable, so argumentative, and a hundred other reasons that should mean Kevin doesn’t like him so much. But they make him like him even more, and what does that _mean?_ Is there something wrong with Kevin? He’s very aware of what he looks like, and he knows that an embarrassing amount of people have made it quite clear than he could have them, if he wanted. But he doesn’t want. He wants Connor, the most difficult person in the world. The biggest challenge. It doesn’t make Kevin feel very good about himself, and it doesn’t make him feel very good about Connor, either. He does, deep down, wish he’d gotten this attached to anybody but him.

Walking gets easier, after a while, once he gets used to the pain and exactly how to move his leg to minimise it. It’s slow going, and Kevin suspects that they won’t get far enough to run into anything, today. He severely hopes not. The path remains infuriatingly the same, exactly as it has been since they stepped through the door.

Kevin doesn’t know how to break the awkward silence. He learned a good while ago that when Connor is mad at him, he shouldn’t try to fix it. That only pisses Connor off even more. Kevin’s brain is eating itself with anxiety; is Connor even angry? He seems more dejected and sad and Kevin knows that’s when Connor is his most volatile, his buttons visible and begging to be pushed.

Luckily, Connor breaks the silence for him, although it feels like they’ve haven’t spoken for hours.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh,” says Kevin. “That’s good?”

“I can literally feel your anxiety,” says Connor. “And I really don’t need that right now.”

“Sorry,” says Kevin, lamely. It’s not like he can help it.

“You have like, an aura,” says Connor. “Anybody who stands within three feet of you gets hit by your emotions like a truck.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything, just drags his leg behind him and tries to focus on Connor’s voice, although he’s getting tired and it _hurts so much, my God_ , and he knows he’s not got the mental capacity to say anything right now that won’t end in an argument.

“It sucks,” says Connor, filling Kevin’s silence. “You are so difficult to be around. People feel like they’re walking on eggshells.”

“I know,” says Kevin. “That’s how I feel about you, too.”

“And yet you walk all over them,” says Connor. “And I let you walk all over me.”

Kevin turns to look at him, trying to find the best words to say and knowing he’ll never get there.

“You really don’t,” he says. “That’s literally the reason we don’t get on.”

“You’re only remembering the bad stuff,” says Connor, sighing. He glances at Kevin out of the corner of his eye, but keeps pushing forward, dragging Kevin with him. “Do you remember when Jendyose got engaged and you got me so drunk I could barely stand, and you made me say the alphabet backwards on one leg, fell over, and you laughed about it for days?”

“I do,” says Kevin. “There was that time we found a frog and left it in Arnold’s bed, too.”

“And when Michaels banned you from communal board games, so we played battleship instead?”

“I remember,” says Kevin.

“I let you win. I moved my pieces when you weren’t looking.”

Kevin feels something open inside him, something lovely and warm.

“Remember when we put on the play?”

“Who could forget,” says Connor. “I’ve never heard so many children curse before.”

“You made that up,” says Kevin. “Kamirakwo only said fuck two times. He went off-script. He thought it was really funny.”

Talking about the kids is much less painful than Kevin anticipated, especially after the horrific events of merely two days ago.

“It was hilarious,” says Connor. “Almost as good as the display for the mission president.”

“Come off it, you did not find _that_ funny at the time.”

“That was before I stopped believing,” says Connor. “Which I will blame you for until my dying day, by the way.”

“Do you remember,” says Kevin, already regretting the words that are about to come out his mouth. “The first time we talked about it?”

“What, losing our faith?” says Connor. He wrinkles his nose and Kevin feels a swell of something deep in his chest as he watches the vaguely distasteful expression on his otherwise stupid, perfectly imperfect face.

“Yeah,” says Kevin. “It’s a nice memory.”

“I suppose it is,” says Connor.

Sat by the river under the biggest, sturdiest tree with the most shade and the softest patch of grass, _before_ , before everything got so complicated between them. Back before they really knew each other, the first few months there, their shaky little utopia finding its feet, spending too much money because they didn’t know how to budget, losing members as quickly as they were gaining them. Before they got drunk for the first time, before Kevin made Connor try coffee, when they would stay up all night and sleep all day because they _could_ so they _did._ Before they finished writing the Book. When Kevin would still thumb through his Book of Mormon occasionally, back when it still brought him some comfort instead of a slew of bad memories and boredom. Those transition months were scary, and nobody knew each other very well, so they all felt isolated in a hut of eight and a village of less than five hundred people. Alliances hadn’t been made yet. It was terrifying, and yet there was Elder McKinley; cool and collected, never flustered over anything, had an answer for everything. He relied on people relying on him. Kevin thinks that Connor even gets off on how much Kevin needs him, not that he would ever _admit_ that. But Connor has limits, too, and Kevin knows that he was incredibly lonely. He chose Kevin to have that conversation with, whatever reasons he had for it, and in hindsight that was probably the first step down the long, descending, spiralling staircase of their relationship. For the last six months Kevin thought that they’d reached the end, that they got to the bottom and found nothing there. But maybe - just _maybe -_ there was a corner they had to turn. Or, you know. A door to go through.

They’d sat there and Connor had said: _Elder Price. Do you still believe?_ And Kevin had said, _no, I don’t think so._ And then Connor told him about a lot of things that Kevin is sure he’d never told anyone before. About his faith, about how it wavered in middle school and his doubt lasted until the end of high school when he was overcome with a bout of optimism at the thought of his mission putting him back on the right path. He’d said, _and I think it did lead me down the right path,_ and then he followed it up with, _I found you, didn’t I?_ And that was probably the end of something and the start of something else, something that Kevin didn’t have a rulebook for.

Kevin’s leg hurts, but not quite as much as his heart does as he remembers how Connor had rested his head on Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin thought, _this is the first time I’ve seen him touch anybody,_ and luckily this was back before he had the foresight to think about how he knew that in the first place.

“Neeley taught us how to make fortune tellers,” says Connor, after a while. “What did yours say, do you remember?”

“That I would get married on the moon and have thirteen children,” says Kevin. “I also think I lived in a mansion.”

“That’s MASH,” says Connor. “Although eerily accurate.”

“Oh,” says Kevin. “The thing where you had to pick a colour? Mine said I would be happy.”

“Did it come true?”

Kevin gives him a look.

“My leg looks like dog food,” says Kevin. “What did yours say, Elder McKinley?”

“That I would fall in love,” says Connor, in that airy voice of his.

Kevin doesn’t ask Connor the same question.

“Naba,” Connor sighs, after a while. “She’s back. Again. I am not happy to see her.”

“I am,” says Kevin, and he wants to sweep her up into his arms but he’s trapped by Connor holding him upright, so he lets her curl around his legs two, three times instead, getting ginger fur all over his tattered pants. “Ow, ow, ow,” he says, when she brushes against the wound.

“Oh, shit,” says Connor, and makes tutting noises to get Naba to follow him instead. It works. Naba really likes him, Kevin thinks. _Me and you both._ “How is your leg? Reckon you can walk on your own?”

“No,” he says. “And Naba means there’s probably something coming up, right? I don’t know if I can -”

“So let’s not,” says Connor. “We can leave it. I would rather stay here an extra day than you get eaten because my sister’s decided to use you as a chew toy.”

“I feel so used,” says Kevin.

“That’s how they treat every boy,” says Connor, flashing him a quick grin. “They go through them like tissues.”

“Such good Mormon girls,” says Kevin.

“You know it,” says Connor. “The McKinleys are going to be fully ostracised from the church any day now.”

He sounds pretty happy about it, all things considered. Serves them right, Kevin thinks, remembering the cold way Connor’s eyes observed everything in his parent’s house, the way he wrinkled his nose and told him about the stair with the worn out carpet, the one that Kevin’s left half the skin of his cheek behind on, that was used to punish him for something as simple as having mild, harmless high school crushes on unavailable boys. He wonders how his parents would react, if he brought Connor home one day, and is kind of glad he’ll never have to find out.

“Good,” says Kevin, decisively. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the look on Connor’s face is relief with a dash of gratitude.

Kevin watches Naba for a while, leaning maybe a little too much into Connor but who can blame him? His _leg._ He tries - and fails - to feel a little less sorry for himself. He’s exhausted, he’s in so much pain, and considering how he can barely walk by himself, the odds of surviving whatever comes next are getting slimmer and slimmer.

“Arrgh,” says Kevin, noticing something out of the corner of his eye. In the flowers, there’s some black and brown blobs with far too many legs. “ _Spiders._ ”

The whispering starts again.

It’s too much, after the week he’s been having, after the false sense of security he’s felt all day, safely tucked under Connor’s arm. It’s been so quiet and peaceful; he’s had time to think, time to decompress, time to break the alliance between them and mend it all over again. Time to not feel terrified that he’s going to die at the next available opportunity. It’s too much, all at once, and Kevin feels himself start to panic.

Connor shifts so Kevin is tucked slightly closer to him, and Kevin doesn’t think he even realises he’s doing it.

“ _Buibui,_ ” says Connor, breathlessly, somewhere near his ear. Kevin is barely paying attention, because yes there’s _buibui,_ Kevin literally just said that.

“Oh my God I hate this, I hate this so much, McKinley I swear to God please keep walking, why have you stopped? Don’t stop, we need to get away from them -”

“ _Angalia,”_ says Connor, half muttering to himself, and Kevin can barely hear him above the rushing sound of whispers, cascading down his spine and causing him to shiver. Has he lost his mind? Why does need to watch out? Has Connor seen something Kevin hasn’t? He can’t stop looking at the spiders - there’s _hundreds_ of them, but they’re resting peacefully in the flowers, luckily not gravitating towards the path. Kevin is suddenly grateful for how wide the tunnel really is.

“You’re freaking me out,” says Kevin, trying to drag Connor as far forward as possible. “Well, the spiders are freaking me out, and you’re not helping at all!”

“Calm down,” says Connor, exasperated, shifting Kevin slightly so he accidentally puts the wrong pressure on his leg and he _whimpers._ “It’s okay, they’re only spiders.”

“Only spiders?” says a scandalised Kevin.

“Listen,” says Connor, bringing them to a stop. “Listen really carefully.”

So Kevin does, because he’s stupid for Connor and Connor makes him do stupid things, like stand still and quiet and calm when he’s surrounded by hundreds of his absolute least favourite things in the world.

_Buibui,_ the whispers say. _Kuangalia nje kwa ajili ya buibui._

“Connor,” says Kevin, his chest tight, his throat filled with stuffing. “Why do we need to watch out for spiders?”

“So you can hear it too,” says Connor, in one breath, like the words have been stuck inside him and want to leave in a rush. “Are you okay?”

Kevin is surprised - even a little touched - that Connor has asked.

“Literally not even a little bit,” says Kevin.

“Are you going to have a panic attack?”

Kevin thinks about it; closes his eyes and pays attention to the warning signs of his body. His chest is constricted; he feels nauseous, and a little lightheaded, and like his throat is dry and scratchy and closing in on itself.

“No,” says Kevin, truthfully. “I’m too tired.”

“Okay,” says Connor. “Let’s move.”

Now Kevin can decipher some words, the others become easier to understand.

“ _Ni wao sawa,”_ says Kevin. “No, we are not okay!”

“I’m fine,” says Connor, shaking his head. His hand feels sweaty on Kevin’s arm. He sounds exhausted. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’m touched,” says Kevin. “Truly.”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Connor. “Oh my God.”

The whispers start to die down when the spiders decrease in number, until there’s only one or two every now and then.

“Well,” says Kevin. “That was thoroughly terrifying.”

“Useful, though,” says Connor.

“There was a spider, before,” says Kevin. “In the mission hut. Remember?”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “I remember.”

Kevin hasn’t seen any other animals here, come to think of it. Even in Kitguli, there weren’t the usual goats and stray dogs roaming free; no other bugs, no birds, nothing. Just the spiders.

Kevin tries to shake it off. He doesn’t do a great job, but he does manage to calm down.

“I can’t keep this up much longer,” says Connor. “You’re really heavy.”

Kevin checks two, three, twelve times that there are no spiders nearby, before sliding out of Connor’s hold and laying flat on his back on the ground. It feels good to be horizontal.

“It feels good to be horizontal,” says Kevin, because he knows that Connor’s ears will turn a delightful pink and his mouth will part in incredulous shock.

“You’re terrible,” says Connor, stood over him, hands on his hips, looking down. He doesn’t look particularly attractive from this angle, but Kevin feels his heart pounding in his chest like he’s got the full attention of somebody so attractive it makes him nervous. Like when he went to the eye doctor and he was incredibly cute and up in Kevin’s face and Kevin found himself anxious and stuttering. He knows he’s staring, but he doesn’t make any effort to stop. He doesn’t think Connor minds all that much, considering the way his lips twitch in that way they do when he’s enjoying Kevin’s company and doesn’t want to admit it.

“Come lay down with me,” says Kevin, stretching his arms and wriggling on the ground trying to get comfortable. He makes grabby hands at Connor until he sighs and lays down next to him, gingerly, every movement calculated. He lays around half a foot away from Kevin, careful to keep enough distance they won’t accidentally touch. “That’s better.”

Connor snorts. Kevin turns to look at him, and Connor looks back, like they were this morning only it seems heavier and different and more important, somehow.

“I spy with my little eye,” says Kevin. “Actually, I can’t think of anything.”

“I spy,” says Connor. “Something beginning with ‘p’.”

“We already did that one,” says Kevin.

“No,” says Connor. “We didn’t. Take a guess.”

“Petals?”

“Nope,” says Connor. “I was going for ‘pain in my ass’.”

Kevin grins at him, completely against his own will. He curses his traitorous body for being so damn obvious all the time.

Was he always like this? Or is he just more self aware of it? Because if he was always like this around him, if he always had such low willpower, no self-control whatsoever, completely unable to stop every affectionate thought flicker across his face, Elder McKinley is kind of a massive jerk for leading him on.

“What do you miss the most?”

“Coffee,” says Kevin, instantaneously. “Arnold.”

Connor snorts.

“In that order?”

“Have you ever tried to deal with our Prophet uncaffeinated?”

“You know I could never control him,” Elder McKinley sighs.

“He’s a force of nature,” says Kevin. “I can’t wait to tell him all about this.”

“You’re going to tell Arnold?”

“Of course,” says Kevin. Naba has decided that his stomach is the perfect place to sit, and she’s digging her claws into his skin. The small pinpricks of pain are a nice change to the dull, throbbing ache in his leg. “He’s crazy enough to believe it, and too crazy for anybody to believe him.”

“Fair,” says Connor. “I miss Poptarts.”

“The person or the food?”

“Both, I guess,” says Connor. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

“I can’t unsee Church being so damn chirpy,” says Kevin. “I know I’m going to want to make fun of him for it.”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “It’s so weird, now. Like if we do get home, how do we move on from this?”

“I guess,” says Kevin. “We’ll just have to turn it off.”

Connor grins at him, crooked and a little mischievous. Kevin has always liked it when Elder McKinley smiles at him like that.

“I miss Nabulungi,” says Kevin.

“I missed you,” says Connor.

Kevin can’t stop staring into those blue eyes of his, the ones that always seem to be searching Kevin’s face for something Kevin wants to give him so badly, if only he knew what it was he wanted to find.

“Really?”

“Don’t push it,” says Connor, flippantly, and reaches over to scratch Naba’s head. He’s very skilled at breaking moments with Kevin. He’s had a lot of practice.

Kevin reaches out instinctively and touches his wrist, briefly, holding him in place with his fingers curled in Naba’s fur. It’s like the whole world stills around them.

Connor looks back up at him and he looks like he wants to say something, but he’s choking on the words in his throat. Kevin knows how he feels.

“I think I know where we are,” says Connor, after two moments too long. “I think we are in a Hell dream after all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “Mine used to go a lot like this.”

Kevin feels his heart breaking in two. He lets his hand go and feels weirdly relieved.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s all symbolic, right?”

Kevin thinks about it. It’s a good theory.

“You might be onto something,” Kevin says in a soft voice, even though there’s nobody around to hear them. “Are we in yours or mine?”

“I don’t know,” says Connor. “I think both? It’s not the first time we’ve shared a dream, you know.”

“I know,” says Kevin, thinking about Connor calmly watching him bang on the door. “I haven’t had a hell dream in a long time.”

“What do you think the door dreams were? You’re so dense.”

“Oh,” says Kevin. “They weren’t like that before. What’s the difference between a hell dream and a nightmare, then?”

“I don’t know,” says Connor. “Just how it feels. It’s so much more real in a hell dream. They’re also usually a lot meaner.”

Kevin thinks about it. The door felt so real under his fingers. It’s a good theory. Even if it doesn’t turn out to be true, it’s something to work with.

“How long have you been dreaming about it? The door?”

“The first one was in Uganda,” says Kevin. “Then pretty much since we got back to America.”

“Dreams always mean something,” says Connor.

“I know,” says Kevin. “You told me that before.”

Connor hums, and it’s such a familiar habit that it makes Kevin smile.

“You should have told someone,” says Connor.

“Didn’t need to,” Kevin says. “You were there. I wasn’t alone.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” says Connor’s voice, huffing. “You’re the weirdest person I know, including Arnold.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” says Connor, after a beat. “Not really.”

Kevin can feel Connor shuffle closer to him, although whether or not he knows he’s doing it is a mystery. Kevin, because he does things he doesn’t understand sometimes, extends his arm and offers his hand, palm facing upwards. He watches Connor watch his hand like he’s afraid of it, before slowly reaching over with his own. Kevin turns to look up at the flowers again - roses, heliconias, daisies - and tries to pay attention to every curve of Connor’s hand. It feels familiar. This _is_ familiar; laid like this, side by side, hand in hand.

“Do you like me again?” Kevin blurts.

Connor sighs, and his hand twitches, but he doesn’t move at all.

“Kevin,” he says, and the way he says it says everything in the world.

“Right,” he says, and shakes his head. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.”

“I wish -”

Connor’s hand tightens, and Kevin takes that as a sign to look over at him. He’s watching Kevin’s face warily, biting his lip and frowning.

“I just don’t think this is the right time to have this conversation,” says Connor, wearily.

“It’s never going to be the right time, though,” says Kevin. “Is it?”

Connor looks so sad, Kevin thinks. Kevin wants to reach over and smooth the frown around his mouth with his thumb.

“I think,” he says, and he’s looking at Kevin like he’s personally pulling each of his teeth out one by one. “That maybe there might be a time when we could - uh. Talk about it. In the future.”

Kevin’s stomach does a _thing,_ and Connor’s cold eyes look warm and smug in response, and Kevin wants to put everything he’s feeling into something tangible, like words or grand gestures, but he settles with just squeezing his hand instead.

“This world is messing with my head,” says Connor. “Seeing things you can’t, hearing things that aren’t there. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

He looks it, he really does. Elder McKinley has been tired for a very long time, longer than Kevin has known him.

“I just want to go home.”

Kevin shuffles over closer to him so their arms are touching. Connor lets out a rattling breath that startles Kevin a little. Connor doesn’t do this. Connor isn’t fragile like this; doesn’t let emotions simmer over the surface, especially not emotions likes fear and exhaustion. But here he is anyway, looking at Kevin like he might be the answer to all of his problems, not the cause of them.

“I’m gonna get us home,” says Kevin. “The thing about dreams is that you have to wake up sometime.”

Connor barks out a laugh, and if it sounds a little watery - well, for once Kevin isn’t going to say anything about it.

“I missed your optimism,” he says. “I could use some more of that in my life.”

Kevin understands what he’s saying. He’s stupid, and a little slow, but he knows Elder McKinley like the back of his hand, spent the better part of two years studying him, breaking him apart to see what his insides look like then slotting the pieces back together to see how they work. He understands him on a level that Kevin doesn’t really understand anybody else, and he knows what Connor is getting at.

He doesn’t know what to say that won’t ruin the moment, so he doesn’t say anything at all, just counts how many different types of flowers he can identify over and over again until he’s sure Connor’s fallen asleep. Darkness is creeping in, and he’s glad that he’s still holding Connor’s hand because Kevin has never really liked the dark all that much anyway and he’s definitely never liked being alone. He focuses on the feeling of Connor’s hot skin on his, the centre point between them both, and it may be a flimsy connection but Connor’s sleeping fingers are twitching around his like he doesn’t want him to let go. He falls asleep eventually, thinking about the pressure of Naba curled up on top of him, the heat of Connor’s hand, and the feeling of the rise and fall of his breaths fluttering under his ear.


End file.
